


Sacrifice

by shatou



Series: The Case of Republic v. Skywalker [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (it’s Palpatine), (not sure if I should tag the other clone troopers since they only appeared for a little bit), (well a little bit but he’ll be fine), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief mention of polyamorous Padmé, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Character Death, Courtroom Drama, Crying Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Lightsaber Battles (Star Wars), M/M, Not Anidala, Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Political Intrigue, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-21 17:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatou/pseuds/shatou
Summary: When the Clone Wars abruptly come to an end, the Hero with No Fear is to be tried as a war criminal by the Galactic High Court of Justice. In his efforts to clear Anakin Skywalker’s name, Obi-Wan Kenobi challenges the judicial system of the Republic.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jedi Council, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Republic Senate, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: The Case of Republic v. Skywalker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215107
Comments: 51
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duskscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskscribe/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Obi-Wan smiles. It isn’t every day that your path to the gallows is carpeted.

Anakin’s hands are well hidden in his sleeves. Obi-Wan taught him that trick years ago - and, as such, he can pinpoint whenever Anakin makes use of it. As a general rule, he either doesn’t mention it or gently jabs at his former Padawan over his apparent nervousness. Today, however, the mood weighs down around Anakin like humid air before a rainstorm. It drags Obi-Wan’s brows into a furrow as well, matching Anakin’s somber expression.

They’re just passing from a patch of sunlight into the cast shadow of a pillar when Anakin breaks the silence. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Master.” He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan as he speaks, walking on as if on autopilot. 

It’s not the first time Anakin has said some variations of that phrase. It has been a constant of their life ever since Anakin was knighted, ever since they were thrown into a galactic war with seemingly no end in sight. Whenever they spend a night near each other, be it in their bunks on a Star Destroyer-class ship or in their war tents (or even in their quarters once upon a blue moon), Obi-Wan would catch, without fail, Anakin tossing in his bed, sweat beading his forehead as he mumbles, while his eyes remain squeezed shut. Anakin's sleep talking is mostly unintelligible, although Obi-Wan could have sworn he has heard his own name once or twice. He would wake Anakin, every time it happens, if only for Anakin to curl up in a corner and not look at him for the whole day to come. It happens, and it happens, and it happens again, and at this point Obi-Wan could sense the shadowy tendrils of Anakin nightmare even before he begins to stir.

Anakin never did tell him what troubles him so, and Obi-Wan prefers not to pry, in fear of putting Anakin on the spot. It has always been a delicate matter, especially after Anakin confessed to him, in bitter tears of shame, about what he did to the Tusken raiders on that fateful day on Tatooine. He has no doubt Anakin has seen something again last night, something that caused Anakin to pull his shields up so very high. 

“You should’ve asked the Council to send me too,” the Knight continues, the pale flashes of his fingers peeking out from under his long dark sleeves as he fidgets. “You’ll want me on this one.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s footsteps slow to a halt. “You know very well why you must remain here on Coruscant.”

Anakin comes to a stop beside him, gaze downcast. Obi-Wan’s hand rises to touch his chin, and he jumps a bit, eyes snapping up at Obi-Wan. His frown pulls at the glossy scar over the corner of his right eye. A strange, untimely urge to trace it with his fingertip unfurls in Obi-Wan’s chest. He tamps it down, shaking his head, meeting Anakin’s eyes.

“Your task is something only you can do. Anybody can engage Grievous,” Obi-Wan continues. “Even me.” He smiles a little; his heart sinks when Anakin doesn’t return it, narrowing his eyes at the - perhaps ill-timed - joke.

“You better not mean it,” Anakin mutters, pressing a disapproving finger at Obi-Wan’s chest. (The small, brief point of contact turns out to be strangely distracting, but Obi-Wan knows better than to let himself be derailed.) Anakin sighs.. “...It makes me feel dishonest, Master. Spying on a friend.”

 _Friend._ Hearing Anakin refer to the Supreme Chancellor with such casual fondness has never sat right with Obi-Wan. His gut used to churn with a sense of foreboding whenever Senator Palpatine, and later Chancellor Palpatine, stole Anakin away for the afternoon - invoking some sort of privilege that even the Council was powerless to interfere, oddly enough. Such an overprotective sentiment is not only unbefitting of a Jedi but perhaps also uncalled for, given that Anakin is a Knight now, no longer his Padawan.

Yet, he has his reasons to suspect Palpatine. Even after the Separatist leader has been slain, the Supreme Chancellor refuses to relinquish his state-of-emergency executive powers; the Council are holding their tongues but still retaining their doubts; and all hinges on Obi-Wan’s success in eliminating the Separatist General. If both Dooku and Grievous are dead and Palpatine remains adamant on overriding democratic procedures even then, it would be all the evidence they need to trigger a motion of no confidence (and the notion of a lengthy procedure alone makes Obi-Wan desperately want to pinch his brows) to remove him from office or, better yet, an immediate arrest sanctioned by the Galactic High Court of Justice. 

Anakin has it right, though. His honesty has always shone bright and boundless and Obi-Wan is no more at ease with the Council’s mandate for his former Padawan as Anakin is. He sets both hands on Anakin’s shoulders, and can feel Anakin taking a minuscule step towards him so that it is less than an arm’s length between them. “Think of it this way, Anakin. If Chancellor Palpatine is truly honest, then you are proving his innocence. By doing this, you are protecting your friend, in a way.”

Anakin looks at him, lips pressed together tight and white. 

_He has a lot of power, Anakin_ , Obi-Wan thinks to himself, behind his mental shields. _He is not a kindly grandfather, nor your helpless old friend. He is the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, and half the things he has done to cause us to suspect him would have gotten any other democratic governor in trouble on their own planet._ But it wouldn’t do him any good to tell Anakin that. Anakin does not take well to criticism against his friends, even worse than criticism against himself - this, Obi-Wan infers from having witnessed a loud scuffle between a seventeen-year-old Anakin, and a fellow Padawan who was unfortunate enough to make an off-color remark about Master Kenobi just as Anakin passed by. Doubtless Anakin holds the Chancellor in higher regards than he does Obi-Wan himself, for obvious reasons.

It takes another moment for Anakin to nod, doubtful though he seems. “Fine,” he says, and Obi-Wan barely has a moment to let out a breath of relief before Anakin follows up with a hasty, “I’m sorry, Master.”

_Well that… certainly came out of nowhere._

“For the other day, I mean. I was just—frustrated by the Council, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” Anakin explains, and his expression is quickly shifting from a mighty scowl to the look of a kicked droid. “I haven’t… appreciated you enough, Master. Or your training.” His lips part as if he has more to say, but then his eyes flit down and he presses his mouth into a line again.

Obi-Wan can’t help but smile, wide and bright. The swelling feeling inside his chest is almost like that on the day of Anakin’s Knighting all over again. (Or the day Anakin shyly pried open his fingers and handed a little carved charm made of Japor ivory wood, or the day Anakin pressed his braid into his hand, or the day Anakin came back from his first battle won alone, or…) He squeezes Anakin’s shoulder. “You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I am very proud of you.”

Anakin lights up like the Coruscant Republic Tower at nightfall. It’s all Obi-Wan can do not to pull him too close in an unbecoming display of affection. Their proximity is already a privilege to him as it is.

“I’ve trained you since you were a little boy and taught you everything I know.” _And everything I know was hardly enough, because what did I - a fresh Knight with not even a year of experience as a full-fledged Jedi at the time - know? Yet you put up with me, my dear Anakin. You put up with me._ “You’ve become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be.”

“Master—”

“Peace, Anakin,” Obi-Wan stays his imminent protest. “Have faith in the Light, as I have faith in you.” 

Anakin quiets. The morning light catches in his blinking eyes, shining, glittering. Obi-Wan doesn’t mention it - not only out of courtesy, but also because he would then have to point out the misty state of his own eyes, lest he be a hypocrite.

“Thank you, Master.” Anakin bows. He has never seemed this proper, this solemn. Obi-Wan pats his shoulder with a dip of the head in return, and turns away. Part of him resists; his hands don’t want to leave Anakin’s shoulders, his feets don’t want to turn towards the Star Destroyer lying in wait. There is nothing about the mission itself that he fears - merely the possibility that he might not return to Anakin. It’s an undercurrent of a thought that should not have been allowed to recur. He sighs, descending the stairs into the ship, every step bringing him a little farther away from home, a little closer to uncertainty. Such is the nature of war.

“Obi-Wan, wait.”

Obi-Wan has scarcely turned around when strong, familiar arms wrap around him. Anakin’s tight embrace whooshes the breath out of his lungs. There should be a million questions springing up in Obi-Wan’s mind right now, yet his mind is oddly, serenely quiet as he brings his arms around Anakin; relief suffuses him at the mere simple act. A shared smile warming the air between them, Anakin draws back slightly, and Obi-Wan is ready to ruffle his hair and tell him a fond word or two—

Anakin kisses him on the lips.

It’s but a few seconds of softness and affection, of lips pillowing on lips - a fleeting thing, no more. But in those few seconds, Anakin’s flesh hand has already found its way into Obi-Wan’s hair, and his other arm is so secure about his waist, and in that moment everything that surrounds him is Anakin, his scent, his warmth, his heartbeat. Suddenly Obi-Wan realizes why his mind provides him with no question to shield himself, none at all, when Anakin holds him this way, touches him this way.

Because it feels right.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” Anakin whispers, eyelashes casting long, trembling shadows over bright red cheeks. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have mustered up a properly admonishing tone even if he could. He could not - not to this face, this picture of abashedness after all the courage has gone out. Anakin is already parting from him, walking backwards on the stairs without a hitch. All but running away after pulling that brazen move, his boy. “May the Force be with you.”

It takes Obi-Wan embarrassingly long to recall the correct answer. “Goodbye, Anakin.” His voice feels nearly as weak as his knees. “May the Force be with you.”

His thumb swipes across his lips absentmindedly even as the _Negotiator_ leaves Coruscant’s atmosphere. Anakin’s lips were warm, but there is a desperate finality in his words that chills Obi-Wan to the bone.

* * *

“That certainly went faster than I expected,” Obi-Wan states flatly, making his way back into the Star Destroyer. _And so much less civilized._ He has already reported his victory and Grievous’s death to the Council via his comm. With any luck, that should be enough for the Council to petition Palpatine to renounce his emergency powers - and, failing that, to solicit the High Court for an arrest warrant (a motion of no confidence would take far, far too long, in his opinion). He straightens up when he realizes that he has been limping slightly. Oh, but there is little to worry about: nothing’s fractured, he’s sure, just a bit of a residual ache from when Grievous nearly twists his foot off his ankle. For the time being, all is well.

Except for the beeping screen in the middle of the command center.

“General Kenobi,” a trooper steps up to him, one of those stationed back in the ship. “You have got an encrypted message from Coruscant.”

 _Encrypted?_ Obi-Wan frowns. He’s no stranger to secrecy, given the war they are fighting, but the sinking feeling in his stomach cannot be ignored. Still, he makes no mention of it, merely nods at the trooper. “Alright, thank you. Leave me here; I will look through the log.”

The message comes up, and his dread grows even colder. ‘Encrypted’ is one way to downplay it. This message is wrapped in half a dozen security layers, asking for authentication at every turn, taking a sample of Obi-Wan’s voice first, then scanning his fingerprints, eyes, _a hair follicle_ for Force’s sake; then asking for a Council member-only codeword; and, finally, tells him to activate it using the Force. Obi-Wan grasps around for a moment before he finds himself faced with six simple words.

_Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord._

There is no explanation, no answer as to whether this was inferred from Palpatine refusing to let go of emergency powers even after the report of Grievous’s death, or if the information has been obtained some other way. Below is an attached file, with detailed instructions on how to establish an encrypted call to a commlink ID that Obi-Wan has never seen before. It must have been newly set up by the Council - at this rate, he could only hope his intuition is right. He shuffles his hands around the control panel for a moment, feeling somewhat like an elderly man who is touching a datapad for the first time. There are too many codes to copy and too many silly mistakes that could be made, and when the sweat begins to bead at Obi-Wan’s forehead and his neck heats up below his collar, he finds himself dearly wishing Anakin were here.

 _Anakin!_ The realization is a stab through his mind. A _Sith Lord_ has been getting closer and closer still to Anakin after all these years, right under the Council’s nose. Right under _his_ nose. Anakin, whom he was supposed to _protect_ , has been left to make friends with a deadly politician, and a Sith. Now the stab isn’t only through Obi-Wan’s mind, but also his heart. _Focus, Kenobi_ , he thinks, and looks down, and verifies the first string of command.

The second, then the third... Light flashes, wheels turn, loading bars inch forward, too slow for comfort. Obi-Wan watches with a hand over his mouth and creases deeply set between his brows. He should be thinking of the Republic, of the current state of the Senate, of the eroding democracy and the only light of hope they have left; but all he could think about was his former Padawan - and the quiet, almost resigned look in Anakin’s eyes, as he backs away from the kiss and nearly runs into the shadow of the hangar bay. He rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. No, a _kiss_ is the last thing he should be thinking of right now, no matter how much it burns within him, the need to know just what it means. 

After what seems like two eons and a half, a notification chirps: all six components of the protocol have been delivered and are pending on the other side, awaiting decryption. Obi-Wan shuffles onto his other feet as finally, a figure scrolls up, washed in blue. He lets out a sigh of utter relief.

“Master Kenobi,” Mace Windu says, gravely. “I take it that you have received our message.”

“Yes, Master Windu.” Obi-Wan bites back a _Is Anakin alright? Is he safe?_ “What is our plan of action, if I may ask? Have you reconvened with the Council?”

“Nobody is available, I’m afraid.” A look of grief passes by the Master’s face. The unsaid is deafening - the other Masters are either too engulfed in battles of their own, or have been struck down. Mace’s stoic expression quickly resumes, even as Obi-Wan’s frown deepens. “We must confront and apprehend him on our own.”

“Would that be wise?”

“If I had other options, I would not have chosen this one.” Mace sighs in an incredibly subtle manner. “But Sidious has gotten very bold. Indeed, we learned of his secret solely because he _told_ Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan’s lips part. There could only be one reason why Palpatine would tell a staunch Jedi Knight such a tremendous, baleful secret. He must have believed he could seduce Anakin to the Dark Side. Worse, he must have had _a reason_ to believe he could, in any way, secure Anakin to his side before Anakin reported back to the Council - as he has done here, as it seems, and thank Force for that.

“Master Kenobi.” Mace’s voice snaps Obi-Wan back to reality. He balls his hands up into fists, hiding the tremble in his fingers that he only just noticed. “We must confirm our suspicions before any confrontation takes place. Ideally, we would first report the Grievous news first, and see how it goes from there.”

“I would take on that task, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says without hesitation. “I am aware that I alone cannot defeat Sidious. But I could negotiate with him, then tire him out, priming the main fight for you. You will have the element of surprise, thus the upper hand.”

“A safe plan,” Mace says, reluctance tugging at his every syllable, “for me. A very risky one for you. Are you sure, Master Kenobi?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan affirms. _I am ready to sacrifice._

* * *

When the ship anchors before the Temple’s hangar bay, trepidation begins to creep up to Obi-Wan. It isn’t about the upcoming mission, rather because he could not sense Anakin near. Perhaps he is just in the intelligence center, the communication room, or even down in the workshops - someplace too far away from the hangar for Obi-Wan to sense, but still within the Temple. He could only hope Anakin remained in the Temple.

Mace Windu stands at the edge of the durasteel platform, his expression one of both exhaustion and extreme focus. He nods his acknowledgment when Obi-Wan dips his head, and together they board a gunship headed for the Senate building. They traverse the expanse of a humid orange sky in silence. It looks like a storm is coming, judging by the yellowed clouds that gather above the horizon. Streaks of red gold reflect over the durasteel and glass of the many skyscrapers and buildings and hanging platforms on their way. There is something soul-touching in the light of a setting sun, blazing fierce colors while the heat dies out. 

By the time they arrive, the sky has gotten dark. Obi-Wan knows the significance of all the glittering light on the Senate building’s curved upper dome by now, can recall by heart where most of the shuttle ports are without consulting a map, can navigate through the building using his memory alone - especially the road to the Chancellor’s office. Master Windu and he enter the structure, and nobody so much as tosses them a second glance. They join the thin stream of people filtering under high ceilings and over dark granite and through great halls, then into smaller corridors, long and sleek and pristine. All is as quiet as it is only another day, but a sudden snags at his senses. A little burst of familiar light.

Anakin.

 _What is he_ doing _here in the Senate building?_ His presence is bright and clear, but his side of the bond is closed. At least Anakin isn’t anywhere near the Chancellor’s office, just at the end of the hallway Obi-Wan is heading towards. He would still much rather his old Padawan remains at the Temple… but he has no time to dwell on it any longer.

“I’ll come in first, Master Windu.”

Mace nods, and sets a hand over his forearm. With a squeeze, he says, under his breath, “May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” and it might as well have been a _Farewell_. He stays there, as Obi-Wan turns the corner alone.

Well, Obi-Wan smiles. It isn’t every day that your path to the gallows is carpeted.

The office itself is nearly as large as a hallway, with no fewer than three doors and an eerie stretch of uncarpeted granite floor, dimly lit. The Force is murky and thick with corruption like never before, as if the source of the Darkness has recently gone into a smug, sneering fit of abandon.

The final door slides open. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine lounges in his chair as though it is some sort of throne, on the backdrop of glimmering Coruscanti traffic over the velvet of the night. There’s something like a flash of surprise before he smiles at Obi-Wan like a snake. “Ah, Master Kenobi. We meet again.”

“Supreme Chancellor,” Obi-Wan greets, rather enthusiastically. “I am to report to you that General Grievous has been eliminated.”

Palpatine’s eyes crinkle in the mask of a kindly smile, his fingers tapping together in feigned. “How wonderful. I commend you for your efforts and military prowess, Master Jedi.”

“Oh, Chancellor, you mustn’t be too kind to me,” Obi-Wan answers with saccharine fondness. “Now I feel truly guilty to bring you the next unpleasant news.”

Palpatine’s expression doesn’t change, and neither does Obi-Wan’s. “Not at all, Master Jedi. Please, I would like to hear.”

“Right, then. I am certain you know the law of a deliberative democracy better than I, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan prefaces, pacing forward casually. “The figureheads of the Confederacy are gone. Surely you realize it is past time you declare the end of the state of emergency, and restore the full faculties of the Senate.”

Beady eyes narrow for but a moment, before Palpatine lets out a chuckle that sounds like a varactyl’s claws scraping on durasteel. “I must agree with you on one count, Master Kenobi. I do know the law of the Republic better than you.”

“Chancellor, I regret to inform you that neither of the things I have said are up for debate.” Obi-Wan steps forward again. “If you continue to undermine the legislative branch in favor of your executive powers, I’m afraid you are liable for undemocratic conduct and treason.”

“Treason, you say, Master Kenobi? Treason such as the manner in which the Jedi Council has been sending one of their own to spy after me?” Palpatine’s eyes harden, as he rises to his feet. “Do you not know that Anakin has written and signed an affidavit decrying your conspiracies against me?”

 _You have no rights to say his name like that._ Obi-Wan releases the sudden flare of disgust into the Force. An affidavit means nothing if the only authority overseeing it has a massive conflict of interest with… He can’t think - he can’t focus. “Not under duress, I should hope?”

“Oh, no. Entirely on his own volition.” Palpatine smiles again, and rounds the desk to step to the front. “You are very wise, Master Kenobi, but not wise enough for politics. I suggest you come back to the Temple and let the politicians do their job.”

“The decision is not up to me, Chancellor.” Obi-Wan stands very still. He places a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, clearly broadcasting his intentions. “You are under arrest. The Senate will decide your fate.”

The smile slips off Palpatine’s face, as does any semblance of patience. His voice darkens, coldens. “I _am_ the Senate.”

Obi-Wan smiles, with all the false confidence of a soldier in diplomat-skin. “Not anymore.”

A red glow bathes the room as the Sith’s lightsaber blazes to life. The kyber’s hum carries with it the sounds of a thousand agonized screams, the weight of all the lives it has been forced to take. Obi-Wan immediately falls into stance, bringing his lightsaber up to block the incoming offensive. The Sith Lord moves unbelievably fast, and every slash, every cut, every blow is meant to harm and aimed to kill. His range of movements is almost dizzying: one moment Obi-Wan is parrying a strike from below, the next he has already been forced to break his Soresu orbit to counter a sidestroke. He turns and whirls and defends and defends and defends as he backs towards a corner of the office. His job is to wear Sidious out, to distract him, to coax him into fatal overconfidence. It’s in nobody’s interest for him to win this fight.

The red blade slashes indiscriminately at furniture and decor, sending mangled chunks of synth-wood and glass and duraplast tumbling and scattering across the floor. The blurs of blue and red swallow Obi-Wan whole, leaving him no space to think, never mind to taunt and tease the way he is so used to. The sheer intensity of the attacks that are equally matched in frequency and brutality erodes his strength faster than he could ever expect. A slight lag in his footwork, a millimeter off in his strike, and pain sears on his shoulder where the Sith’s blade has grazed. He grits his teeth over a grunt, releasing the physical hurt into the Force. Sidious flashes him a politician’s smile; Obi-Wan leaps back and away. He has never fought a lightsaber-wielding opponent who attacks so effectively they hardly _had_ a pattern of defense.

“Very wise, very brave,” Sidious mocks, through an onslaught of blows. Obi-Wan doesn’t bite. They cross blades, once, twice, thrice, back to front; the Sith darts behind him and Obi-Wan whirls around to parry, the bright heat of plasma hissing in the air. Sidious suddenly tears forward, and the whirrs turn into a sizzle and Obi-Wan nearly doubles over in blinding pain. The red lightsaber has sliced through his left flank, cutting through sinew and rib bones. No organ damage, hopefully. Obi-Wan tightens his grip on his lightsaber, releasing the pain. He still has strength in him yet. He will not call upon Master Windu until he has no other choice.

“And very stubborn,” the Sith Lord adds, finally.

“You have excellent continuity, my lord,” Obi-Wan bites out, hiding his harsh breath.

Clearly unamused, Sidious charges again. Obi-Wan sweeps his blade in an arch, using Sidious’s own momentum to send him hurtling towards the window. In that moment Obi-Wan rushes forward, backing him against the transparisteel. His lightsaber swings down, catches the red blade, and he twists his hand, twists the weapon out of Sidious’s grasp. No time to lose; he touches his utility belt, ready to send Mace a commlink signal—

Pain shoots through him. Pain like hundreds of thousands of red-hot needles piercing his muscles, that convulse and release and convulse again and again and again. All the stars burst crimson before his eyes as if the universe had met the most gruesome ending, and when Obi-Wan could see again he finds himself in a heap on the ground. His fingers, his hand, his whole arm is shaking too much to bend. Never in Obi-Wan’s life had he thought there would be a day where the distance between his arm on the floor and the comm at his belt would be the most nerve-wracking thing to conquer. _Come on, Kenobi, just a little more._ The crimson glow is already above him. One thrust down and it’ll sever his spine from his brain, paralyzing him as he watches a Sith Lord take over the Republic...

A pained cry tears through the air. Sparks fly. There’s a gnarly scraping sound of plasma blade on plasma blade, then footsteps, then somebody stumbles back. A dark figure lingers up there. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber flies out of his grip, joining the blue glow of another. Blue, not purple. Blue, an overwhelmingly joyful blue, two of them, against one red. Obi-Wan blinks, forcing his vision to refocus, to see more than just the bleary shadows and the whirling blue and red.

“You _fucking liar_!”

Anakin’s voice, nasal and damp with unshed tears, pierces the buzzing and hissing of plasma blades. Obi-Wan blinks again, willing himself to take deep breaths, urging the oxygen to circulate in his muscles once more, releasing the pain into the Force. He feels down to his belt and clicks the commlink, signaling Mace to come in; then he drags himself back with a laborious huff.

Anakin’s figure outlines itself in a thin blue glow. The rest of him is dark, entirely shadowed. His movements are nearly as wild and brutal as Sidious’s himself, but even more aggressive, even more enraged. He slashes both blades forward, one after the other. One tears into Sidious’s shoulder; the other doesn’t meet its destination as Sidious hops back and counters again.

“You promised to help me save the one I love!” Anakin continues to roar. Obi-Wan shivers. He can’t see Anakin’s face from here, but the shrill despair in his scream has an almost inhuman quality to it. “You knew you were going to _kill_ him!”

It all clicks into place at the worst moment: the nightmares, Anakin’s ashen face, the kiss, Anakin’s presence in the Senate building, the affidavit, Sidious attempting to lure Anakin to the Dark. Love. It’s Anakin; of course it is all about love. Those who love so deeply hate so deeply too.

Wouldn’t that make it Obi-Wan’s fault for not realizing sooner?

Anakin continues to back Sidious towards the window, his fury blazing so hot and high it’s almost palpable, almost visible. One slash and all the transparisteel shatters; the sound of Coruscanti traffic floods the room, shadowing over every voice, every whirr of the lightsabers. Yet Obi-Wan’s heart beats louder than all, pulsing frightenedly in his ears. _Anakin_ , he thinks, helpless as he clutches his maimed flank, trying to rise onto his knees at least. _Anakin, please…_

A blue blade flicks up and Palpatine’s saber hand falls outside the window. Obi-Wan knows that was his own blade just from the terrified thrum of the kyber. “Anakin…” he manages, but oh, the traffic is too loud and the anger in Anakin’s head is likely even louder. He could feel Mace’s presence drawing in, rushing down the corridor and through every door. Please, please let him come in, before Sidious torments Anakin too—

A whiteout flash; two violent currents meet. An ear-splitting _boom_ , rendering his hearing useless. For a moment all Obi-Wan can feel is an offensive stench of ozone, and burnt flesh, and he manages to rise to his feet finally as the afterimage of the bright flash finally clears from his eyes. “Anakin… Anakin? Are you—”

His jaws drop, breath caught in his throat at the sight. Sidious’s head lies facedown a few feet away, hair burned off, skin blistering. A severed arm - the one with the hand still intact - lies near it, bent in a strange way. The headless corpse ends above the waist, charred intestines spilling out from behind seared edges. Gore and guts drag across the floor, which itself is scored by lightsaber tips, towards the bottom half of Sidious’s body. Anakin stands above it all, shoving both blades down to dissect the dead body even further. His anger is still crackling through the air, and the light of his signature is brighter than ever, but feverishly so, jittering and jagged at the edges. Anakin, the sky-eyed, sweet-hearted boy he raised, and loved, and _loves_...

Obi-Wan wraps his arms around him from behind. “Anakin, stop.” He tightens the circle of his embrace, heedless of the sudden static bursting between his hands and Anakin’s torso, stinging his skin. “Please, stop. For me.”

Anakin shivers. The lightsabers extinguish before they slip from his grips and clatter into a pool of foul, rotten blood. He turns around, and Obi-Wan’s heart drops. His eyes are not the color of the morning sky, but of a sunset before storm - yellow, golden, amber, with burning red at the horizon. Yet his hands are gentle when they reach up to cup Obi-Wan’s jaws, and the furrow of his brows and the downward curl of his lip corners are nothing different.

Then Anakin glances down, and his eyes widen in a gasp. He barely manages to disentangle himself from Obi-Wan before he trips and staggers away from Palpatine’s mutilated corpse. “Oh, Force. Oh Force, oh no, oh _nononono_...” he mutters, muffled, behind the hand he clasps over his mouth. He steps back and back and back and Obi-Wan’s heart is close to shattering into a million pieces as he approaches.

“Anakin, it’s…”

“No!” Anakin sobs out, eyes snapping up to him, bright with fever and bright with tears. “No—don’t—Master, I’m—”

“It’s alright. Anakin, please listen to me—”

“Don’t come here, I…” Anakin steps backwards away again, knees wobbling, golden eyes still fixated on the dismembered, desecrated body on the ground. He sniffles like a child. “What… What have I done?” 

“Nothing we cannot fix together.” Obi-Wan takes in a deep breath. The graze on his shoulder and the lightning burns on his chest and the lightsaber sear on his side are making it hard for him to focus, when he needs that focus more than ever. “I’m here, Anakin.” He chances another step. Anakin flinches, but doesn’t move - which is the first good sign. “It’s over now,” Obi-Wan continues, holding his arms out. Anakin looks at him, shoulders drawn back, eyes wild and lost and still yellow, while Obi-Wan comes closer, and closer, and close enough to place both hands on his shoulders.

“You don’t have to run,” he says, even as his inside twists up in anguish just looking into Anakin’s eyes. “Not from me.”

Anakin blinks rapidly at him, then crumbles, shaking so badly that Obi-Wan can hear his teeth rattle. His knees are already giving out, and so are Obi-Wan’s, so he carefully lowers the both of them to the ground. Anakin nestles against him, curling up in a way that makes him so small, so very small. When was the last time he saw Anakin breaking down like this? It couldn’t have been more recent than three years, or four. 

“I’m sorry,” Anakin says, and says it over again, and again, “Master, I’m sorry,” and Obi-Wan wonders if he is aware that his eyes have changed colors - or if he simply feels the putridness of the Dark within him, the electricity still charged at his fingertips despite him never learning how to use Force lightning. _Or perhaps he means the corpse. There is also that._ “I didn’t mean to—do that, I swear, please…”

“Alright, Anakin.” Obi-Wan thoughtlessly presses his lips into Anakin’s hair, and cards his hand through it, and electricity still sparks and pops in the cracks of his fingers. “Everything’s over. I’m here; you’re safe.”

Anakin is breathing too fast for comfort. With the way he’s shaking, Obi-Wan is almost afraid the boy might burst into morsels of stress and fright and panic. “He was going to kill you, I thought… I was just…” _So scared_ , it goes unsaid, but Obi-Wan could sense it.

“Hush, Anakin. I know.” He brings Anakin’s face up to wipe his tears, and sees that the sky has cleared in those eyes - eyes that are bloodshot and puffy and dazed, and heavy under tear-matted lashes, but blue. Obi-Wan smiles ruefully, wipes at his wet cheekbones, and kisses him between the eyes. Blue eyes. He feels so very faint, yet he keeps still and sits straight. “I’ve got you, Padawan. It’s alright now. I’m here.”

In his heart of hearts, he knows he is lying through his teeth. It’s not alright. He can feel the hum of Mace’s lightsaber, can imagine the disbelief and horror and immediate suspicions as the Master lays eyes on what remains of the late Chancellor’s body. He can almost conjure up the faces of the Council and the other Jedi tomorrow, in disbelief, and their skeptical voices as they question Anakin - poor Anakin, sobbing and shuddering in his arms - over the event of this night. Right now, as his vision swims and the strength goes out of him, he only remembers a young scared boy in the place of that black-clad, enraged man, yellow-eyed, butchering a corpse in an unrestrained show of needless brutality...

What Obi-Wan didn’t anticipate, however, is the unfamiliar voice bellowing right over his head just as his consciousness slips away.

“Jedi, you are under arrest.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” Plo sets a hand on Obi-Wan’s unhurt shoulder. “It appears that Anakin has renounced his status as a Jedi.”

“Master Kenobi, please,” the Zabrak healer says, a sigh low in their voice. “Please sit down. You need to rest.”

Obi-Wan looks up at them out of sheer courtesy. This is the fourth time this morning a healer has come into the infirmary room and found him pacing (despite his short breaths) and insisted that he settle in bed. He’s told them the exact same thing every time, and he’ll say it again: “Yes, of course, Healer Illeto. You needn’t worry.”

And he would’ve remained there, standing, until they left and he’d pace again, but Illeto looks him in the eye in the manner of a staring match. “You must sit down and stop putting stress on your injuries. Master Kenobi, you are a general of war,” they said, their tone picking up a notch in sternness and Obi-Wan uses up all of his willpower not to wince. “I should not need to remind you how the Force lightning has affected your organs and temporarily compromised your immune system, no?”

“Yes, I under—”

“It would be permanent if you do not listen to us,” the healer adds, like a last knock-out blow. “Is it clear, Master Kenobi?”

“Yes, Healer Illeto. Understood.” 

The door only slides shut after Obi-Wan has sat down. He sighs. He can _feel_ it, every millimeter that the mattress dips down under his weight. _Those healers do make a great deal out of everything_ , he thinks with an unJedi-like huff. _It’s only a few burns. I am hardly bedridden._ Everything in his immediate surroundings - from the chronometer to the slowly blooming flowers at his bedside (who put them there?) - seems to move at the pace of a snail while the universe travels in parsecs outside his window. He has not been allowed much more than offline datapads and it would be a lie to say that being treated like a helpless youngling does not frustrate him. He should be visiting the Council, or the Senate, or even the High Court itself. He should be visiting the Republic Detention Center, Section Z, where especially dangerous suspects are held in pre-trial custody.

Where Anakin is detained.

Obi-Wan was released quickly enough - in fact, he’d woken up in this very bed, clean and bandaged and smelling of bacta and wearing white infirmary tunics. He thought at first that it was because he was injured, but this theory was quickly dispelled when he realized he was in the Order’s Halls of Healing - completely outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction. If the Republic has decided to take him, they wouldn’t have given him back to the Temple like this. Besides, how could he know if Anakin hadn't sustained any injuries? He could only conclude that there is a disparity in treatment between him and Anakin. It turns out that he is right.

“Pleaded guilty?” Obi-Wan repeats, unused to this sort of perpetual confusion and feeling all the more annoyingly helpless for it. “Master Plo, how do you mean Anakin _pleaded guilty_ ; that doesn’t make any sense.” Anakin has to know that Jedi autonomy prevails over any Republic institutions - they have been through this before, during the Temple hangar bombing. Only Jedi may try a Jedi, in accordance with Jedi traditions. He shakes his head. “Either way, it could not have been a valid legal decision, is it? As long as he is still a part of the Order, he…”

Obi-Wan pauses, eyes widening at the other possibility in his own words. No. _No._ He looks to Plo, almost desperate for his unsaid conclusion to be countered and proven wrong. Instead, the Kel Dor Jedi Master only looks back at him, clear regret and sadness seeping out into the Force realm around them.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” Plo sets a hand on his unhurt shoulder. “It appears that Anakin has renounced his status as a Jedi.”

For a second it feels as though the universe has split up beneath him and swallowed him into a realm between realms, sucked him into a black hole and crushed him to clumps. Anakin has _left_ the Jedi. Anakin has willingly taken the status of a civilian in order to plead guilty and be _sentenced_ by whichever tribunal they are going to shove him into. _Why?_

That question can only be answered by Anakin. Obi-Wan lets out a long, deep breath. “What of the Council, Master Plo? What… did everybody say about this?”

“They - we - have done all we could. But a Jedi is always free to leave the Order. Not even the Council could interfere with such a decision.” Even though the mask and goggles shield much of Plo Koon’s expression, there is a note of heartbreak in his filtered voice. “You know that.”

Obi-Wan wants to say that this is _different_. He wants to argue that Anakin couldn’t have made the decision to jeopardize _his own life_ and gamble with a possible death sentence all on his own, and he so dearly wishes he could have been there when the Council made this windswept, offhand decision of just leaving Anakin in the claws of the state apparatus that Sidious once reigned over and moulded to his liking. Who knows if Sidious had a dead man switch that he’d reached for somewhere before Anakin cut his throat?

It isn’t as though Obi-Wan doesn’t realize what reasons the Council might have had not to intervene with Anakin’s fate. That only makes it all the more infuriating. Were he alone, he would have yelled at something inanimate, a pillow, a bundle of flowers, anything. _Why did you have to lie unconscious and not be there for Anakin? Why didn’t you do anything to try to come to his aid? How could you leave him to fend for himself like that - after he saved the Republic and your_ life _?_

All he says is: “Yes, I… Yes.”

Obi-Wan rubs a hand over his face. His gut reaction is to consider leaving the Order himself - in solidarity and in guilt. Throughout the ten-odd years of Anakin’s apprenticeship and Knighthood, Obi-Wan has never had any doubt in his mind: if the boy left, he would leave too. It has long ceased to be a necessary conclusion of his oath to Qui-Gon. No, it is his oath to himself; and to Anakin, unbeknownst to the Knight himself. He would never leave Anakin bereft - not then, and not now.

Yet he knows it is not the wisest course of action. Being a Jedi means being part of the Order; being part of the Order means immunity against many legal processes and bureaucratic barriers. It means prestige and trust (broadly speaking). It means _agency_. Giving up all of that in a symbolic act will not get Anakin out of the lawsuit that’s being drafted up by _the Republic_ against him. He must do something - make use of his freedom. If he even is free from prosecution, that is...

“And before you even think of it, Obi-Wan,” Plo speaks, as if having followed his train of thoughts all this time. “I assure you, you will not be arrested. You cannot, even if you left the Jedi and turned yourself in.”

Obi-Wan dislikes feeling so lost; it reminds him rather too much of Kamino. “Pardon?”

“Your fingerprints were all but wiped off your lightsaber hilt. The clearest marks they found matched the creases of Anakin’s left hand as well as his fingers. It’s an alibi too strong to deny. And you cannot refuse it either; it has been retained as evidence against Anakin.”

Obi-Wan grimaces. Of course they are gathering evidence against Anakin. Who even are the people in charge of the investigation? He would very much like to know if he could trust any of them. “Does he have an attorney?”

“One appointed by the Republic, yes.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “A real attorney, I mean.” A beat. “I apologize, Master Plo. I did not mean to disparage you so; I was only...”

“I understand your frustration, Obi-Wan. I don’t hold it against you.” Plo squeezes his shoulder. “If it is any consolation… I have signed you up for visitations. You should be able to see him in a few days, if all goes well.”

 _If all goes well._ What a reassuring hypothetical, for such a pathetically minuscule concession. Obi-Wan manages a stiff smile. “Thank you, Master Plo.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Plo nods. “Now, please, with that knowledge in mind - would you lie still and rest? I might or might not have been informally charged with a mission to pacify you. The healers are despairing.”

Obi-Wan wishes he could humor Plo’s obvious attempt at cheering him up. As it stands, he could only think about how utterly absurd it is. That the Supreme Chancellor was the Sith Lord who has orchestrated everything in the first place, and he has died, and now this is how they treat the hero who has ended the horror. That Anakin himself is somehow, for some unfathomable reason, going along with it. His hand rises, tracing the faint outline of the Japor snippet that he still wears on his person after all this year.

There is absolutely no way in Sith’s hell Obi-Wan would simply stand aside and watch.

* * *

There is not a single day in his life when Obi-Wan does not look upon exaggerated bureaucratic procedures with plain disdain. This, however, exceeds disdain; it has turned into pure ice-cold disgust. He is not allowed to visit Anakin. Not until another ten standard days.

It is not the waiting that bothers him: Obi-Wan would wait ten or ten hundred days if it is for Anakin, if Anakin himself tolerates it. No, it’s the fact that Anakin is being practically isolated from his support network while a _sentencing date_ is already being scheduled. This is beyond unlawful. Both Obi-Wan and the Council - as well as, he suspects, Anakin - are in the dark about which organisms exactly are responsible for his prosecution, what evidence exactly are there, and how tight the case against him is. The fact that he is barred from coming to check on Anakin (who is not the most legally literate, by his own admission, because, in his own words, _“I don’t give a kark, Master”_ ) and his physical and mental state is beginning to seem suspicious to Obi-Wan. It is as though something covert is happening here, with regards to Anakin’s case.

Obi-Wan does the next best thing - or so he tells himself, to maintain his morale. In truth, it’s the only thing he could do. He confronts the Council.

The session is held at dusk - fiery sky, impending storm, the clouds as luridly yellow as Anakin’s eyes on that day. There are only a few Masters attending: Yoda, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Ki Adi Mundi, Depa Billaba. The rest were either in the infirmary or negotiating ceasefires on planets previously occupied by or aligned with the crumbling Confederacy.

“I would like to know,” Obi-Wan begins, taking the floor before he was even invited; it’s less a lack of politeness and more a gesture of mercy by now, what with the awkwardness in the air and everybody’s clear reluctance to speak, “if anybody here has been in contact with Anakin ever since he was detained, or renounced his Jedi status, or plead guilty. And,” he adds sharply, “if not, _why_.”

“Barred access, we are,” answers the Grandmaster of the Order. “Speak to the Ministry of Security, we have. Speak to the Chief Police, we have also. No right to intervene, the Jedi have.”

“I am not asking about interference with the judicial procedure, Masters,” Obi-Wan swiftly says. “What I mean is, can anybody here verify if Anakin’s renouncement of his Jedi status was done voluntarily? Because if he was coerced, then the decision should not be considered valid. And the Republic would have no rights to keep him in custody.”

A brief silence. “You are right, Master Kenobi,” Ki Adi says. “If he was coerced, his leave would be null. But as Master Yoda said: we can’t know. We are not allowed access. We have always been barred from decision-making at governmental level; why would judicial matters be any different?”

It is an ironic question, to be sure, and the irony certainly isn’t directed towards Obi-Wan, but rather at those higher authorities that have presumed to keep the Order under their thumb, even before the Clone Wars, even before the reign of Chancellor Palpatine. Even so, Obi-Wan cannot help a twitch of annoyance at his eye corner. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Master Mundi, but I believe what makes matters different is the fact that Anakin has killed Darth Sidious - the Sith who was behind this entirely galactic conflict and had costed not only us but also the Republic loyalists _and_ separatists countless lives. If that does not make his case deserving of at least another glance, I’m not sure what would.”

“The issue is,” Depa says, “exactly that. As far as we have gleaned, they believe Anakin to be the sole and prime suspect of the Chancellor’s… murder.” She pauses. The word must have been hard to say. “The matter is only further complicated, as surveillance cameras switched off during the entire evening. The very last footage was this.”

A holograph scrolls open. Washed in blue, the figures warp a little and jitter every now and then. It was Anakin, lightsaber pointed at Palpatine’s neck. They circled one another slowly, eyes locked. Judging by their mouth movements, Palpatine talked a great deal more than Anakin did - and the more he spoke, the more furious Anakin seemed to grow, until it abruptly ended with Anakin thumbing off his lightsaber and leaving in brisk strides. Palpatine simply went back to his desk afterwards, and the area was clear again. Depa turns the hologram off.

“Given the timestamps, I have reasons to believe,” Mace adds, his expression and voice even more stoic than usual as though shielding great pains, “that this happened just before Anakin reports to me about Palpatine’s true identity. He told me Palpatine told him that himself.”

Obi-Wan strokes his beard grimly, closing his eyes for a moment to quiet the beginning of throbbing in his temples, in his chest. The only person who can bore witness to Palpatine’s confession to being a Sith lord is the prime suspect of Palpatine’s murder - a massive conflict of interest that even Obi-Wan would not be able to spin into Anakin’s favor. That means there is practically neither evidence nor witness to the fact that Palpatine is Sidious. But the word of the Council should matter, no?

“I could only assume that you have informed the Senate, or the Ministry of Security - or any involved authority, for that matter - that Chancellor Palpatine was the Sith Lord behind the Clone Wars,” he says. “Shouldn’t that come into play?”

“We have.” Plo nods. “We have told the Senate all that we know and explained to them that the Chancellor not giving back emergency powers after both Dooku and Grievous were dead should be evidence enough. They said...”

Another holograph scrolls up, this time recorded with sound from a transmission, it seems. It’s a face he doesn’t recognize, a face that means nothing to him - but the faint background he can glimpse showcased the Senate’s official, formal backdrop. _“...enough evidence for a removal from office or an arrest, yes. Not enough evidence to be brutally murdered and viciously humiliated by the desecration of his remains. The Republic will not stand for vigilante justice, especially not when it involves violence of this caliber. We refuse to release Skywalker. His sentencing will be announced shortly.”_

“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan has to consciously remind himself not to gape too openly. His heartbeat rakes up and all of his blood is rising to his face, in a way that makes him almost physically aware of the overworked, pulsing veins inside his head. He pauses, pinches his brows, clearing his voice, in order for his next words to be as calm as befit a Jedi Master on the Council. “...Correct me if I’m wrong, Masters, but has there been any initiative to investigate _Palpatine’s_ abuse of power and frankly dictatorial endeavors _at all_?”

Another silence, this time stretching long and suffocating. Obi-Wan glances around the room, looking every single Master in the eye while they all avoided his eyes one by one. His stomach is sinking and sinking with the cold weight of dread. 

“Not that we know of,” Ki Adi admits.

Obi-Wan looks forward, frowning deeply. “Then Masters, pray forgive me for my directness, but what are you waiting for?”

When the rustling of robes and the quiet clearing voices and the uncomfortable shifting in positions are all that fill the silence, Obi-Wan exhales harshly and presses his forehead to his laced fingers - whether in exasperation or entreaty he isn’t even sure. He knows where this is going to lead; he has feared it, has anticipated it all this time. But nothing still quite prepared him enough for the moment it is solidified in words.

“Seen the holos of the crime scene, we have.” Yoda says, quiet. “Cut into pieces, the corpse was. The Jedi way, it is not.”

 _How could you speak of that, when one of our own is at the mercy of people who do not want to extend any mercy to him? What is the Jedi way to you? Do you care more about how the corpse of a Sith Lord was treated, or about how a living Knight is being treated by a justice system that cares not for him?_ But of course, Obi-Wan would not voice it. He would be overstepping. He knows well it is about the principle, and the fact it was Sidious’s corpse did not matter. What matters is that Anakin has undeniably indulged the Dark in him. What matters is that _they did not want to help Anakin._

“I fail to see how that should hamper us from demanding justice, Masters,” Obi-Wan follows up. “If not for Knight Skywalker then for the innumerable lives in this galaxy whom Sidious wronged. Dead or not, he must be exposed, must he not? If his death is being investigated, then his life should as well, in my humble opinion.”

“A wise and noble suggestion, Master Kenobi. To your suggestion of an investigation, I have no objections,” says Mace, to Obi-Wan’s slight surprise (the praise was unnecessary, he remarks privately), “but the Senate might. After all, the truth about Sidious and the Clone Wars would be nothing short of a scandal, causing distrust if not unrest among the people. Doubtless they will have incentives to cover it up.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitch up slightly. “That is all the more reason for us to pressure them into launching one, don’t you think?”

* * *

To Obi-Wan’s relief (and some wonder, to be sure), he enters the Senators Apartment Complex without a hitch - that is to say, no security guards questioned his Jedi robes in these sensitive times. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar door under a sleek durasteel arch. He rings the doorbell and stands in wait, fingers twined together beneath sleeves. A minute later, the door slides open and Padmé, his good friend, comes jogging up towards him with open arms.

“Obi-Wan,” she says, her long dress rustling with movements as they embrace in greeting. They settle at the table, where a pot of tea is already steaming from the spout.

“I’m very sorry about Anakin’s situation,” Padmé begins, setting a cup of tea on the saucer before him. “The Senate deferred it immediately to the judiciary; we had no say in the arrest. The only vote they held was on an executive order that allows Security and Police to immediately begin judicial processes, and, well, as you would expect - most would vote in favor. After all, the Chancellor did just pass away.”

“It’s alright, Padmé.” Obi-Wan shakes his head softly. “I know it isn’t your fault.” Truthfully, he would have loved to bury his face in his hands and tell her how much he worries about the process to come - the investigation, the prosecution, the trial, the _sentence_. The Military Tribunal once wanted to sentence Ahsoka to death for the manslaughter of one non-politician. There is little doubt how much mercy the judicial system has for the likes of the Jedi.

“There’s no need to ease my conscience, Obi-Wan.” She smiles tiredly at him, her tone genuine and unmistakably guilty. “I have no doubt that Palpatine’s entourage has been working with the Chief Police behind our backs. I’m”—she hesitates—“not sure about the entire circumstances, but… I figure there has to have been misunderstandings, right?”

Obi-Wan blinks, pausing just half a second longer than usual when his eyes fall shut. He attempts a smile - although perhaps that turned out worse than not smiling. “Hear me out, Padmé,” he says. “Anakin did kill Chancellor Palpatine. But he has a good reason to. The Chancellor… is indeed the Sith Lord we have been searching for, who manipulated the Clone Wars from both sides for his gain. And, at the moment Anakin intervened, well… Palpatine was about to kill me. I suppose that must have enraged Anakin beyond any rational judgment.”

Somehow Padmé manages to stay gracious and subtle while all but staring at him. Lips parted, she seems to require a few moments to take in everything, and Obi-Wan does not blame her. “And you are absolutely certain of this? It is a grave thing to accuse somebody of, Obi-Wan.” Padmé’s voice does not waver, though there is a breathless quality to it. She asks as though the question is a mere perfunctory verification, as though she already expected something that equally as grim.

“The entire Council is sure. I personally fought Palpatine and saw his red lightsaber - it means he is a Darkside Force-user. You have to commit heinous acts for your lightsaber to turn that color.” He feels his shoulders droop with the exhaustion of it all, and straightens up. “My apologies, Padmé. I know this is a lot of information at once.”

“No, I understand.” She nods, and the volume returns in her voice. “If this - the fact that Palpatine is a… Sith, as you call him - is proven to be true, it would mean he was a threat to democracy and had committed high treason against the people of the Republic five hundred times over.” Determination and righteous anger bloom in her tone, a flash of fire in her gaze. “Which would be enough of an extenuating circumstance to make the case of Anakin’s acquittal, if not reason to drop his charges completely. Is that what you are getting at?”

“You said it better than I could ever have,” Obi-Wan says, a small smile finally managing to curve across his lips. He sips his tea and brings the cup down, hands firmly framed around it to hide the slight tremble. It should not be so difficult to say this to a friend, but there is so much of his interest here that Obi-Wan feels as though he is taking advantage.

“...I need your help, Padmé.” He sighs quietly. “The Jedi Council is all but blocked from having any say in Anakin’s fate. We could have, but Anakin has given up his Jedi status - hence why he is being made to go through the judicial process meant for civilians.”

Padmé furrows her brows. “He did?”

“Yes, and I’m not sure why.” His eyes sting, and Obi-Wan opts to attribute it to lack of sleep. “I suspect deception or coercion behind this decision of his, but I cannot tell for sure. Nobody seems to know, and I... haven’t been allowed to visit him, to ask.”

“Oh, no, Obi-Wan.” Padmé reaches over to squeeze his hand. “I’ll see what I can do about that, I promise.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. I would like to.” She smiles. “Besides, he has to be able to accept visitors, if we are to let him know of our progress on exposing Palpatine’s secret identity.”

Her confidence is certainly as reassuring as it is inspiring. Obi-Wan’s brows shoot up. “‘Our’ progress?”

“Yes, well.” Padmé’s cheeks flush slightly. “If Palpatine was both a politician and a Sith Lord, it makes sense to have both senators and Jedi overseeing the investigation, doesn’t it?”

Unexpected kindness is always most certain to make his eyes sting more than they ever have the right to in public. Obi-Wan turns to the side for a moment, focusing, and Padmé, ever the sensible diplomat, does not remark on it. When he has sufficiently worked his voice back to stability, he gives her a wide, grateful smile. “I wholeheartedly agree. Truly, thank you for your help, Padmé.”

“You’re absolutely welcome.” Padmé tilts her head by way of brushing him off. “He’s like my little brother. He’s our friend; we must help him.”

“I’ll admit, I was expecting you to tell me to file a counter lawsuit.” Obi-Wan wipes discreetly at the corner of his eye. _Jedi Order v. the Senate_ , or, worse, _Kenobi v. the Senate_ if push comes to shove.

“I would not be that cruel.” Padmé shakes her head in playful disapproval. “It would never work. Yours would go to an administrative court. Anakin’s case… is likely penal. The Senate wouldn’t budge. It’ll be much more coherent if I call for a hearing, and let the Negotiator have the floor.”

Obi-Wan nods, his eyes somewhere on the particles of dust dancing in a beam of late morning sunlight. The cup of tea in his hand smells like jasmine and aelios, all tame flavors, so unlike the spicy brews that Anakin keeps in their cupboards. He lets out what feels like the ten thousandth sigh ever since he awoke in the Halls of Healing. “...Do you truly believe I could convince the Senate to vote on the establishment of an investigation committee?”

“Obi-Wan.” Padmé sets down her cup with a _clink_. “I’ll tell you this: Not many of us in the Senate mourn Palpatine’s passing. It’s almost a relief, to some. He has been amassing powers beyond limits, even for a Supreme Chancellor during a state of emergency, and… Well, let’s just say that there seemed to be fewer and fewer democratic venues to remove him from office. Nobody wanted to dirty their hands, though.” She lets out a small, regretful laughter, shaking her head. “In a way, Anakin did the Senate a favor, and I will convince them to admit it. I don’t condone extrajudicial killings, of course, but—you know. He did the right thing.”

 _Let us hope you will remain with that opinion when you see the crime scene holos_ , Obi-Wan thinks mournfully, even as he says in complete sincerity, “I agree with you.”

He leaves Padmé’s apartment feeling lighter than he has for days. Even so, as soon as he returns to his quarters - cold, unlit, and devoid of the warmth that exudes from Anakin’s presence, - guilt creeps up on him again. He can’t reign in his thoughts, can’t keep them from wandering toward Anakin, to no surprise. Truly, does Anakin feel alone? He wouldn’t be surprised if Anakin does. Is Anakin afraid? The boy is brave, but this situation is so strange and outrageously unfair to him, isn’t it? And then, is it too cold in the detention cell for him? He has always gotten cold easily…

To be sure, it is rather silly to concern himself with such tiny, trivial things when they have fought a war and survived unimaginable wounds. And yet, they keep Obi-Wan up until the crack of dawn, an arm draped over his eyes, wondering and wondering how things could have gone differently had he woken up just a day earlier. He manages to cram in an hour or two of sleep, before waking up to the buzzing of his datapad. A message from the detention center.

_Your visitation request concerning Detainee No. 631982 has been approved. Please confirm your presence at 11:00 on…_

The day is today. Obi-Wan slips out of bed, thanking Padmé in his mind as he gets dressed for prison.

* * *

The Republic Detention Center is as cold and hard and unforgiving inside as it seems outside: all sharp edges and hard corners, narrow bridges and hallways without railings, dull durasteel and dim space save for the intermittent spots of bright light. Section Z is significantly better lit than the rest, with harsh beams of overhead lights that remind one of the operation table. The entire corridor is grey door after grey door, and every footstep echoes right back in his chest. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes ahead and his mind on the destination. The guard leads him into a room that houses no furniture except for one single stool set before a partition of steel both solid and transparent. There, beyond the transparisteel, is the man he has been waiting for.

Anakin sits on the other side, only visible from the waist up as the bottom part of the partition is durasteel. Even the dark red of his jumpsuit appears less lackluster than his ashen skin, made sickly in the greenish lighting. His head bows, matted, dirty hair straying and splaying across his forehead without a care, and judging by the way he sits, the way his arms are positioned, his hands must be bound at the wrists. Obi-Wan has seen him restrained like this before, countless times, but never by an institution under the very authority that they serve. Betrayal cuts deep at the sight of a platinum collar thick and heavy around Anakin’s neck, a cruel, sterile white-silver, sharply bright in the muddled shadows. There are spots of orange and red glowing through the metal, no doubt denoting some calibrations of the Force-suppressing mechanism within.

The true horror only hits him when Obi-Wan takes a seat. From that angle, he realizes that Anakin’s hands aren’t bound at all. His right sleeve is empty from the elbow down. His sole hand is still cuffed, in the same stark white material as the collar. _Who did this to you?_ Obi-Wan sucks in a sharp breath. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ No rage, no fury, only determination. He must, he absolutely must get Anakin out of here as soon as possible - which is all the more reason why he couldn’t let anger take over his mind.

“Hello, Anakin,” he says, leaning towards the transparisteel.

Anakin glances up, a husk of himself. The fight and the light has gone out of him. Obi-Wan almost could not believe this was real. The only thing that reassures him is the color of Anakin’s eyes - shadowy like a stormy sea, but blue. Obi-Wan waits in the silence for a few moments, and tries again.

“I’m sorry for not coming sooner. How are you?” The question feels garish on his tongue, and Anakin seems to be of the same opinion. His lips twitch, self-deprecating and not at all in a smile, as if saying _Like bantha kark, can’t you see?_

Obi-Wan sighs. The guards have told him he has a scant fifteen standard minutes, because this _“is not an official visitation yet,”_ for yet more blasted bureaucratic reasons that Obi-Wan shoved to the back of his mind to dredge up a list of grievances later. Now, he supposes Anakin needs pleasantries as little as he does. He gets to the point.

“What... did they say you were charged with?”

Anakin doesn’t answer for a moment, slumped shoulders rising and falling with every long, numb breath. His eyes are hollow and aimless even as he arverts them, sighing at the ground. Then: 

“High treason. I murdered the Chancellor.”

Obi-Wan presses his lips together, grinds his teeth together, then loosens his bunched up jaws and clears his voice in a futile attempt to maintain his composure. If not for himself then for Anakin’s sake.

“You eliminated a Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan says, pressing his palm flat against the transparisteel as if he could reach out to him. Anakin doesn’t look up at him, doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the gesture. Obi-Wan’s heart wrings itself painfully. “Anakin, you saved the galaxy.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that.” Even Anakin’s voice is flat and dull and so unlike the sweet boy, the bright young man who has been his dearest friend for all these years. Obi-Wan would sooner have Anakin lashing out at him or snapping at him, than seeming so withdrawn. “I just hated him so much, Master, ‘cause I thought he was going to kill you. I wasn’t trying to do the right thing. You saw it.” Anakin bows his head even lower. “My eyes.”

Oh _no_. Obi-Wan wouldn’t be surprised if there are no mirrors in the cell where Anakin was kept - in fact, he’s almost sure there aren’t any. Has Anakin not seen—does Anakin not know...

“Anakin, look at me. Please.” They don’t have much time. Obi-Wan glances at the chronometer, then back at his former fellow General, his former Padawan, his former charge. He can’t count the number of times he has had to personally walk into an illegal racing ring to pluck Anakin out of trouble - but this is nothing like those times. This is dire. “I beg you, Anakin. Look at me, for me.”

He’s aware that it is a low blow, but it does the trick. Anakin looks up, and - now that his eyes are no longer empty, they’re fearful, brows pulled up in hurt. Obi-Wan bites his lip. “I see you, Anakin. Please trust me, your eyes are blue. You are not a Darksider or a Sith. The Council would have fought for you.” _I would have._ He holds Anakin’s gaze. Anakin doesn’t truly hold his in turn. “...Who told you to give up your Jedi status?”

“Nobody,” Anakin says. He has never been good at lying.

“Anakin, please. I need to know… Did you have a lawyer with you when you agreed to it? It’s not an irreversible decision. Technically, the Council must be allowed to revise your resignation, formally accept it and issue an internal statement—”

“No, Master!” he snaps, all of a sudden. _Master_ he keeps saying, clinging to every syllable, to traditions and terms of address belonging to the very Order that he decided to leave - it couldn’t have been him. There is no way Anakin could have done it on his own full volition, and Obi-Wan swears he will find out which very unfortunate soul fed that idea to Anakin. “Don’t do that. Don’t—mess things up!” 

“What?” Obi-Wan feels almost dizzy, all of a sudden.

“I already confessed to murder! Listen to me, _don’t_ try anything.” Anakin jolts forward, thumping his flesh hand against Obi-Wan’s own, and for a second Obi-Wan feels his warmth through the transparisteel, achingly familiar. “I don’t—want to be a Jedi,” he grunts every syllable as though forcing the words out. “I… want the Republic to do whatever it needs to do with me!” His expression twists into that of frenzy, his lips quivering. “Obi-Wan! You _must_ leave me alone!”

If Obi-Wan were on his feet he would have swayed. “What are you talking about…”

Bells blare, a deep bleating sound yet loud and resounding and utterly ear-grating. Republic guards come in, bellowing _“Time’s up, time’s up.”_ The cacophony eclipses every word that Obi-Wan tries to say next, and Anakin is already looking down, looking away, looking at nothing.

“No, wait—Anakin! What did you mean?” He turns to the guards. “Please, sir, I just need another moment—”

“You need to get out.” One of the guards says bluntly, stepping forward and grasping him by the bicep, yanking Obi-Wan onto his feet as if he’s a delinquent. “I don’t care if you're a Jedi, rules are rules.” He drops his voice in a mutter that’s clearly meant to be heard still. “Maker knows how many rules you Jedi have broken.”

“Alright then. I can stand on my own, thank you very much.” Obi-Wan extradits himself from the grip. He keeps his head up high, walking with long, dignified steps as he exits the compound, even though he is torn apart within. All he can think of is Anakin’s halting words and terrified eyes. The Japor snippet sears against his chest.

 _You_ must _leave me alone._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anakin,” Obi-Wan utters, incredulous. “You... meant to sacrifice yourself, your reputation and your legacy, for the Order?”

“I don’t understand it either.” Obi-Wan brushes his hand over his whiskers, probably for the fifth time in the past dozen minutes or so, while explaining to Padmé the barebone things he has learned from his aborted visit yesterday. “But the manner in which Anakin said it strikes me as… highly unusual. And unlike him. I suspect Anakin has been manipulated in some way. If not psychologically then physical - drug admission, perhaps.” _That, and he was afraid to be judged by the Council as a Darksider._ He closes his eyes for a moment, clasping his hands tighter together. “Is it a tad too far fetched of a theory?”

“I don’t think so.” Padmé shakes her head, contemplative. “More often than not, confessions are practically extorted from detainees. That’s what interrogations are for.” She pours more tea for him; steam wisps up above his cup, as thin as hope. “Have you told the Council this?”

“Only that he has explicitly confessed. I didn’t tell them he was upset by the mere idea of Jedi intervention,” Obi-Wan admits, cheeks flaming like a Padawan caught in the restricted section of the Archives. He should have been more truthful, but on the one hand, he has no obligation to disclose to the Council what was exchanged between Anakin and him during an absolutely private visitation, and on the other hand… Well. It was hard enough to convince them to take action; it wouldn’t do to give them more reasons to leave Anakin at the mercy of the Republic police.

_You_ must _leave me alone!_

“...Because we were discussing more technical matters,” Obi-Wan adds, as if to quiet the echoes of Anakin’s voice in his mind. “The Masters would like there to be at least two Jedi Knights among the investigation team, with regards to Palpatine’s alter ego. They all believe that non-Force-sensitive officers can’t know what makes someone a Sith Lord.”

“That makes sense.” Padmé worries her bottom lip, and then smiles softly at him in encouragement. “Don’t worry; I’m confident this will come out in our and Anakin’s favor. You should keep those arguments handy for the executive hearing this evening, Obi-Wan.”

“To be sure.” He smiles back at her, wanly at best. There are no words to express his gratitude for the way she makes time for him. “I hope I don’t bother you too terribly by staying here this way. You must have a lot to prepare for before your speeches.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. Having a friend over helps keep me from cramming. It was a habit I picked up when I was an apprentice, but I do better when I don’t cram.” She leans back, head tilted, studying him with a gaze as cool and soft as summer rain. “...Something’s still bothering you, Obi-Wan. A credit for your thoughts?”

Obi-Wan chuckles humorlessly. _I’m thinking about Anakin. Always. Every waking moment._ “I only wonder…” He pauses, then forces himself to let the words come out of his mouth before he could think it over and lock them away. “I fear that I am being… terribly selfish with these efforts. I find it hard to believe Anakin would _wish_ to be sentenced, of course,” _especially with the near one hundred percent chance of a death sentence,_ “but… I am technically going directly against his explicit will… undermining his agency, in a way. I wonder if I am doing the right thing after all.”

“Oh, no, Obi-Wan. That isn’t true at all,” Padmé says staunchly, setting a hand on his shoulder. “First of all, to expose Palpatine in a way that makes it impossible for the Senate to hide the scandal from the public, is a noble cause. It’s something that I, and Bail, and Mon, and probably many others in the Delegation of 2000, would have advocated for anyway. Second of all…” She squeezes his shoulder now, furrowing her brows even as she smiles, shaking her head. “You are absolutely _not_ ‘selfish’ for wanting to keep Anakin alive. We are all almost sure that many of the things Anakin has done while detained could have been under duress. You are trying to right the wrongs of a system that cares more for the reputation of the elite than the lives of citizens. As someone who is part of the problem, I am truly sorry that you even have to set out to do this all on your own.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call you part of the problem,” Obi-Wan manages, mildly surprised by her fervent reassurance, but no less grateful for it.

“Trust me, you should. Everyone else already does.” Padmé sighs, and brightens up a little more, seemingly only to cheer him up. “You told me that Anakin has done the right thing, didn’t you? And you’re fighting for justice for him. That is the right thing to do. We stand by Anakin, with you, Obi-Wan. Even my wives told me they would help me with the document drafting.”

“Thank you,” is all Obi-Wan could say. Even Sabé and Moteé, who hardly know Anakin… His heart swells with gratitude, his pulse trembling all the way to his fingertips. “All of you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Her eyes glitter gently. “Now, would you like something to drink? Nothing heavy, I promise.”

“You didn’t need to reassure me.” Obi-Wan cracks a smile. “I would have agreed anyway.”

Padmé laughs, waving a droid over. “No need to show off, General.”

* * *

If it were up to Obi-Wan, he would be very content with never setting foot into the Senate building again. As it stands, he is sure this is far from the last time he’ll have to enter this complex. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been this - how to say - _deeply retraumatizing_ , if it had been anything more than a mere dozen days since the incident that nearly cost him his life and is likely to cost Anakin’s life soon if he does not succeed in convincing the Senate.

The path he takes today is a less familiar one, leading straight into the core of the building as opposed to the winding corridors on the periphery of lower floors. He walks slightly behind Padmé and Bail, their footsteps muffled against the carpeted hallway, and a part of him can’t help but think about how all he has been doing in the past few days is being led by others, over and over again. It certainly makes him feel a tad guilty for comparing his friends, who are extending him a helping hand, to the prison guards of the detention center, yet he cannot keep his mind from making the association.

_Part of the problem, huh?_

The Senate Hearing Chamber - not to be confused with the Grand Convocation Chamber, located just beside this one but much larger and reserved for matters _much_ more important than the life of a Republic war hero, such as raising the galactic interest rates or granting more freedom for the Banking Clan to 'manipulate the financial flow in developing systems’ - is a spheroidal structure boasting twenty tiers of repulsorpods and several large screens overhead. It was likely designed to accommodate the totality of senators, which is why it is rarely used to more than half its capacity. Obi-Wan follows the two senators into a repulsorpod and finds that today is no different: the hearing chamber is occupied by around one third, generously counting.

A younger Obi-Wan found Senate hearings to be one of the dullest things in the galaxy. He is still more or less of the same opinion, but ‘dull’ isn’t exactly the main qualifier he would attribute to it now. ‘Ineffectual’ would be more accurate. ‘Out of touch’, in some cases. ‘Expensive’, always.

“Senators, Officers and Representatives,” begins the presiding official, from the podium in the central repulsorpod. “Thank you all for being here for our joint hearing between the Loyalist Committee, the Ministry of Security and the Chief Police delegation, as we work to conduct oversight into the aftermath of the late Supreme Chancellor’s violent demise. Joining us as well is one representative of the Jedi Order and of the Grand Army of the Republic, High General Obi-Wan Kenobi. I would like to first thank Senator Amidala of Naboo, original member of the Loyalist Committee, for your partnership, and look forward to your opening remarks.”

Obi-Wan leans against the ledge of the repulsorpod as it detaches from its row and floats towards the middle. His heart beats steadily, _thump thump thump_ against the near-nothing weight of the Japor pendant inside his robes. This is not the first time he has accompanied a politician in a repulsorpod while they make a speech, but it is the first time he has prepared a speech of his own. He is no stranger to public speaking. He is not quite nervous - not any more than the unavoidable amount of nervousness, at least - and he can do this.

Padmé’s face is displayed on every single large screen in the chamber, as she introduces without so much as glancing at notes. It doesn’t seem to faze her at all; it is only Obi-Wan who is hit with the realization that in about ten minutes, it would be his turn with his face plastered up there, magnified to the last pore.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have Qui-Gon’s sabacc face right now.

“...that the disturbance has taken place.” Padmé’s speech is still ongoing. “The circumstances of the Chancellor’s passing suggest more than the naked eye could see. As many of you here must recall, ten days ago the Senate held a vote on the executive order permitting the Ministry of Security and the Chief Police to take over the investigation and subsequent prosecution of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker.” A wave of murmurs rustle through the ranks. Though from this distance Obi-Wan cannot discern any word or expression, he can gauge the mood in the Force - a chilling spectrum that starts at apathy and ends at satisfaction.

“However, I have also informed the majority of you here that prior to the aforementioned vote, a subgroup among us has taken charge of this issue without our knowledge and consent, nor the Jedi Council’s. Senators, Officers and Representatives, I would like you to consider that this might be a matter outside of our qualifications. That is, that Chancellor Palpatine was more than he seemed.” Padmé glances back at him. “I would like to invite General Kenobi to speak on the issue, and detail his suggested solutions."

Obi-Wan straightens up and steps forward. This is just like speaking before the Council, he tells himself. Just like the Council, except it is two hundred times the number of people, and infinitely less understanding in the Force.

“Distinguished representatives of our democracy,” he begins, hands loosely clasped behind his back as he holds his head high before the microphone. “Forgive me for my ineloquence; I am in no way a politician or a diplomat. I ask of you nothing more than to listen to me with an open mind to the very end, and save your questions or opposing remarks until after I have finished making my case.” He pauses. “I stand before you today as both a Jedi, a soldier and a witness, to retell the events leading up to the death of Chancellor Palpatine. Or, as the Jedi of the Order would call him, _Darth Sidious_ \- a Dark Lord of the Sith.”

More murmurs across the room, and a ripple of mild disagreement. Somebody shouts, _“What is this religious mumbo-jumbo?”_ Another one gruffly huffs, _“Separation of state and church!”_ Padmé doesn’t react, and Obi-Wan elects to do the same.

“As you know, I am a general of war. We Jedi and clone troopers singularly constitute the Grand Army of the Republic, and have been on the frontline ever since the beginning of this conflict. The loss we suffered could not be measured by Republic credits or an opportunity cost in investment; we have held the dead bodies of our friends, siblings, mentors, students in our arms and watched the light go out of their eyes. Yet every day we fight with a single-minded purpose: to defend democracy and bring peace to the galaxy. I say all of this to remind you that, if there were any one group in this Republic who would be dismayed by the notion of all our sacrifice being for naught, it would be the Jedi.

“But if we have taken a vow of loyalty to democracy, we have also sworn an oath to truth. The truth is that, for months to upward a year, the Masters of the Jedi Council have sensed a Dark disturbance in the Force. Every instance of Darkness has traced back to the Senate, or, more specifically, to the Chancellor. We have all had our suspicions - especially when Chancellor Palpatine took away the faculties of the Senate and amassed power via the state of emergency.”

Obi-Wan pauses again. The disagreement in the crowd seems to have faded into a sort of contemplation… or boredom. The swirling of feelings in the Force is not always so clear-cut.

“There was virtually no proof for our intuition. We may have had our theory as to who Chancellor Palpatine truly was, but it was unfalsifiable by those who did not possess the ability to tap into the Force. Therefore, as law-abiding citizens of the Republic, we Jedi remain the trepidant observers of this growing Darkness. That is, until a test presented itself.

“Utapau,” Obi-Wan says, with a slight raise of his voice, as when he presents a strategic location during tactical meetings, “was where General Grievous was detected. He was then slain, by myself, on the very day of the incident. I speak for the Army when I say we had strong reasons to believe that, with Grievous and Dooku gone, the Separatist crisis no longer required the Supreme Chancellor to hold emergency powers.

“I was the one to personally speak to the late Chancellor Palpatine that evening. I explained to him that he was to relinquish his political omnipotence and reestablish the democratic norms. Not only did he refuse…” Obi-Wan sets aside a moment of silence for emphasis. Now that he has captured at least some of their attention (he hopes), a little bit of theatrics wouldn’t hurt. “He engaged me in combat.”

His eyes sweep across the room. Whatever impact that has made, it couldn’t have been much. He tries not to let despondency erode his confidence.

“Please be patient with me, Senators, Officers and Representatives, as I explain this one technical detail. We Jedi wield a weapon called the lightsaber, which draws energy from a kyber retrieved from the sacred caves on Ilum.” He unclips the spare lightsaber he has been carrying and holds it horizontally in front of his face, where the holocamera must capture it on the great screens. “The result is a plasma blade capable of cutting through durasteel.” He ignites it just for a second to demonstrate, before thumbing it off. “This weapon is our life, and the color of the blade reflects our capacity. Our soul. A Jedi’s blade could be many colors - blue as mine, or green as the Grandmaster’s. However, there is one color that would undeniably indicate the Force-user to be a Darksider.

“That color is red. And when Chancellor Palpatine wielded his very own lightsaber against me, his blade was red.”

Judging by the silence in the chamber, the information didn’t make the impact that Obi-Wan hoped it would. Disappointing, but not surprising: after all, all of this must sound like a faraway fairytale to most of them. They did not grow up learning about the great Jedi-Sith wars, the Ruusan Reformation, the warnings against the temptations of the Dark. They could not have known.

“Distinguished representatives of the Republic, I would like to relay to you another relevant piece of information. Count Dooku, the late leader of the Confederacy, was also a Force-user, and a Sith - the same as Palpatine has shown to be. The fact that Count Dooku was a Sith is not a newfound discovery, but a known truth since the beginning of the Clone Wars, and remains inscribed in the Serenno Archives that our troops are securing this very moment.

“In other words,” Obi-Wan raises his voice, again. “We have come to the conclusion that the late Chancellor was not only just any Darksider. He was _the_ Sith Lord who had control of both the Republic Senate and the Confederacy leadership. It was Palpatine who orchestrated the Separatist conflict in the first place - then gained emergency powers using that very conflict as a premise.”

This _finally_ earns him the reaction he needed. Disbelief fumes in the air, but also a discernible wave of agreement and relief. Some thoughts are audible, _I’ve always known he can’t be trusted_ and _Thank Maker he’s dead_ and the likes.

Obi-Wan keeps himself from smiling. It wouldn’t do him good to appear too confident, or even too relieved. He must remain humble - he thinks. He continues: “Even if the Jedi side of the story seems nothing more than fantastical to you, please consider the case of Palpatine as a multifaceted matter. Dark Force-user or not, the late Chancellor had undoubtedly displayed dictatorial tendencies and encroached on _your_ decision-making powers. This, you know better than I.

“Senators, Officers and Representatives. I implore you to take into account the fact that Chancellor Palpatine’s true identity may be an important factor in General Skywalker’s case. Until Palpatine could be proven guilty of treasonous schemes, any possible court decision on General Skywalker’s conduct would suffer from a severe lack of insight.” _An extenuating circumstance for Anakin is all I ask_ , he thinks. “To this end, I humbly suggest the following course of action:

“Firstly, General Skywalker should be given a chance to recant his confession and have his sentencing annulled, in wait of a complete view of the circumstances.

“Secondly, a committee is to be formed in order to launch an investigation into Palpatine, and this committee should include at least two Jedi.

“Finally, any relevant information resulting from the Palpatine investigation should be retained as part of the case of General Skywalker, be it for or against.

“Thank you very much for your attention. I am ready to answer should you have any inquiries or desire further clarification.”

The first question comes faster than Obi-Wan anticipated, from the Chief Police. "Disagree with the first step," says the human male - a stout man who looks almost square in his uniform. "Why should the Senate be able to interfere with the judicial process? Skywalker still killed Palpatine. Even if Palpatine were a war criminal as you claimed, he'd still be innocent before proven guilty. The Jedi might have a penchant for vigilante justice, but the rule of law prevails in the Republic, sir."

_Oh I assure you, the Jedi absolutely don't have a penchant for vigilante justice, or you would not be standing there._ Obi-Wan tilts his head in acknowledgement, with a diplomatic smile. "I offer you three reasons. First, with regards to General Skywalker the manslaughter of Palpatine, self-defense might have come into play. Second, with regards to the rule of law, there have been rather many instances during which the justice system failed to inform the Jedi Order - the quasi-family of General Skywalker - of his mental state or possible medical issues. The Council has found the circumstances around Skywalker's guilty plea rather dubious, and might be persuaded to file a lawsuit against the Chief Police, in the face of such injustice.

"And third, with regards to juridical procedures, the executive decision to arrest Skywalker and commence the judicial process was passed by the Senate. There are thus administrative and legal bases for the Senate to continue having a say in the making of the lawsuit against Skywalker - and I hope the Senators present would agree."

"Fair," somebody says from the Senator repulsorpods. Clearly nobody bothered to listen to the parts related to Anakin.

"The Senate should always have a say!" Somebody else exclaims, and Obi-Wan catches a stray thought of _Judges are useless, anyway._ He smiles inwardly. Glad to know that the branches of the government despise each other as much as he loathes them all. (A Jedi does not hate, but extreme frustration may peak, at times.)

A light blinks from the Ministry of Security repulsorpods, and they are invited to speak. “I don’t see why Jedi should be on an investigative committee, if we are to establish one. This is an internal matter of the government that may or may not involve a judicial process. Security and judiciary, clearly. The Jedi shouldn’t have any say either way.”

“I see your reasoning. However, I must once again remind you of our hypothesis: that Palpatine was a Sith Lord. In more concrete terms, it means”—Obi-Wan’s expression turns grave—“that investigators who are not familiar with handling Sith artefacts - or similar items - might suffer from unimaginable damage. The suggestion to equip the committee with Jedi was made in view of the committee members’ safety.”

It’s not true. The view of the Council - Obi-Wan himself included - is that non-Force-sensitive officers are entirely unqualified to identify what constitutes the evidence of someone being a Dark Force-user. But the danger of Sith artefacts is not _technically_ a lie. And far more persuasive of an argument, if the susurrus of _Oh_ is anything to go by.

The questions continue, not quite in the onslaught Obi-Wan expected, but in endless droning waves - mostly technical ones with regards to the legal and constitutional (he wasn’t aware the Republic even _had_ a Constitution, by Force; he thought it only had a Charter) bases of the creation of a joint committee to investigate criminal matters, and then which sort of legal document should be issued to permit such committee to work, on and on. Obi-Wan accepts all questions with a small smile that seems to have frozen stuck to his face, answering when he could and redirecting it to Padmé or any other Senator on his side when he isn’t able to. Sometimes there would be a particularly sharp question rising up amidst the mind-numbing technicalities, such as “What legal basis is there for the annulation of a sentencing to which both the suspect and the court have consented?”, at which Bail quickly took upon himself to counter by raking up case law in both penal and administrative matters. By the end of the evening, Obi-Wan can hardly discern whether the exhaustion in the room is his own projection or truly a reflection of everybody else’s state of being. Either way, the session is coming to an end.

“We shall hereby vote,” the presiding official announces, “on the annullation of General Skywalker’s scheduled sentencing and the establishment of the Joint Committee of Investigation regarding Palpatine’s treason.”

Silence washes over the Hearing Chamber like a hurricane; all of a sudden there is no noise, no whispering, no objections, just an oppressive quiet as everyone looks down at the control board on their repulsorpod. Obi-Wan has half a mind to ask Padmé later about what kind of procedure this is, exactly, as he finds himself presented with the capacity to vote as well. He presses _In favor_ , and crosses his arms in wait. He finds himself staring down even then, to avoid looking at the pending screens overhead.

“Voting has ended. Counting will now begin.”

It’s all machine, all numbers jumping and speeding up at a dizzying pace, _In favor_ fretfully crawling behind _Against_. Obi-Wan refuses to look. If this does not succeed, he’s not sure what else he could do. Breaking Anakin out of prison and living as outlaws in the Outer Rim is an option, but not exactly a savory one. Filing an administrative lawsuit in _hopes_ of legally obstructing Anakin’s sentencing is even less savory, and less likely to work. He feels rather like a silly youngling, staring away from the screen as though he could will the results to turn out in his favor, already entertaining thoughts of becoming a pirate...

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé gasps, startling Obi-Wan out of his train of thoughts. He lifts his gaze, not sure what to make of her exclamation, and then he sees it.

The screens. They are all green, joyously green like saplings under sunlight, like a Consular Jedi’s kyber. _In favor_ wins out by a scant majority of 52% to 48%. But a majority is a majority. They won. Anakin will have a chance of acquittal.

It’s just the first step, Obi-Wan reminds himself. They have an entire investigation ahead, he reminds himself. But it doesn’t stop him from pressing a hand to his chest, letting the Japor snippet gently dent his skin. It doesn’t stop him from hiding his eyes behind his long robe sleeves for a moment. Just for a moment, to wipe away these tears. _Anakin will live._

* * *

The guards painstakingly explain to Obi-Wan everything he has already read three times over in the rulebook: that his visit should last no longer than a standard hour (which is a considerable improvement from last time’s fifteen minutes, so he truly does not complain); that everything they do will be under surveillance (but isn’t that a constant anywhere else he goes, save for the Temple?); and that he may not, under any circumstances, try to remove the Force-suppressing collar and cuff on Anakin’s neck ( _do or do not, there is no try_ ). Then, “No weapons are allowed,” and Obi-Wan removes the spare lightsaber from his belt and leaves it on a tray. His own lightsaber, along with Anakin's, is locked somewhere in an evidence safe.

It is likely that he is being led down a different path from last time, yet it might as well be the same. The rows of heavy steel doors and the intermittent bright lights are identical everywhere, almost maddening in their repetition. Cruelty exudes from every corner, not from the inmates but rather from the structure of the building itself - or perhaps from the invisible structures of the galaxy itself, erected by the flow of history, by the wealthy and the powerful, to push the disenfranchised towards criminality; the cruelest structures, that he - a peacekeeper whose mission is, among other things, to fight and apprehend criminals - could only uphold rather than upend. 

_Perhaps you are right, Anakin_ , Obi-Wan thinks. _The system doesn’t work. Never in favor of the have-nots._

A shame that it takes Anakin being taken away for him to realize this.

A door opens at the very end of a long corridor, and Obi-Wan finds himself in a room nearly indistinguishable from the last - save for one important detail. Instead of a steel partition, a small table stands in the middle of the room, bolted into the ground. There is one empty chair clearly meant for him, and across from it sits Anakin. His hair is still matted, bearing a sad sheen of grease under the overhead light; his right sleeve is still draping limply on the table, under his cuffed left wrist. One of his ankles is also cuffed, chained to the table. He looks even sicklier than last time, and Obi-Wan suspects that it isn’t just the lighting anymore. It has to be the damnable collar that’s blinking with life at his neck, cutting him off from the Force, leaving Anakin to toss and turn alone in his cold, dark, lonely cell. His chest aches all the way to his lungs. He steps forward and takes his seat, uncomfortably aware of the guard who remains inside the room to surveil them.

"Anakin, I have news for you.” Obi-Wan pauses just to gauge Anakin’s reaction, and is met with a wary look. “An investigation has been launched into Palpatine's life and motives, in order to posthumously expose him as a traitor to the Republic... A criminal against sentientkind and democracy. And you—I'm not sure if they told you, but you will likely be tried properly. That guilty plea won't…"

"What? No!" Anakin scowls, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table. "Why? I told you not to mess things up!"

_Well Anakin, you must forgive me for not wanting to see my beloved executed by firing squad._ Obi-Wan smooths out his expression. And isn’t that a strange stray thought. _Beloved? Beloved… friend._ "Many of us - the Council as well as Padmé and Bail - believed you might have been… manipulated into a guilty plea. And to be clear," he quickly adds, "this is said not as a criticism against you, but against the rather unlawful circumstances of your arrest and confinement."

"Can you speak Basic for a second, Master?" Anakin mutters.

Where Obi-Wan would have been annoyed otherwise, he only feels a strange urge to smile at the snip. _There's my Anakin._ "We believed they tricked you into confessing, Anakin. It would be, how should I say it… Outrageous and unfair, if you were sentenced for that."

A faint smile creeps across Anakin's face at hearing his own word choice reprised at him. "But it's kind of obvious that I did it, right? They have evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, so they were going to find out anyway, so…"

The clear jargon in the wording makes Obi-Wan frown. “Is that what your lawyer told you?” _Because if they did, they should feel lucky I am a Code-abiding Jedi._

“Sort of? He said… that the odds were stacked against me - and, I mean, I already knew that, I really did kill Palpatine so how’s anyone even going to prove otherwise? It’d be a lie, and I’m—really sorry, _kriff_ , I feel—”

“Anakin…”

“No, don’t say anything.” Anakin pauses to take a deep breath. Obi-Wan is struck with the realization that killing Palpatine must have affected Anakin much, much more profoundly than disposing of the likes of Tal Merrik or the Zygerrian slavers. "...Anyway. He said I might benefit from a plea deal for life sentence if I just confessed, so I did—but that doesn’t matter, really.”

“Anakin, it does matter." Obi-Wan studies Anakin, slightly relieved to see that faint liveliness return to his voice, his gaze. "I am almost under the impression that you wanted to be convicted.”

“That’s...” Anakin presses his lips together, his eyes flitting up. No, he truly has never been good at lying. Not then, not now, likely not ever - and how Obi-Wan’s heart breaks for the brilliance of his honesty.

“Padawan, please,” Obi-Wan utters, his tone gentle. “Tell me the truth. You know I would never judge you.” He reaches across the table, fingers barely brushing Anakin’s knuckles. Anakin’s brows furrow for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before he exhales.

“I… guess I did.” Anakin doesn’t pull his hand away. No, he turns his palm skyward, and Obi-Wan laces his fingers into his immediately, hoping to make up for the absence of his Force signature with physical contact. 

“And would you tell me why that is?”

Anakin worries his bottom lip. His jaws bunch up, and then he shakes his head, hesitantly, reluctantly.

“Please, Anakin. We are progressing very well with the investigation, truly. When Palpatine is exposed as a Sith Lord, it will be clear to everyone that you should be treated as a hero, not a criminal. I…” Obi-Wan leans closer. “It pains _me_ , dear one, to see you this way. Why would you _want_ to be a criminal?”

The endearment slips from his tongue before he could catch it, and he does not care. His heart bleeds and weeps and all he can think of at night when he lies in his comfortable bed is how cold it must be in Anakin’s cell. And he knows, he knows he should not be so overly attached to just one person, but he has spent the past week feeling as though he might go mad at any moment from the injustice of it all. He might as well admit it to himself. _Not beloved friend, just_ beloved.

“You’ll be mad at me,” Anakin mumbles.

“There is no possible way in this universe I could be mad at you now,” Obi-Wan says, to which Anakin initially huffs a laugh, and then stops as it becomes clear that Obi-Wan was entirely serious.

“Well, Master, it’s—because of me. It’s because of... something I did, while you were, uh, going to Utapau.”

Obi-Wan listens to his every syllable, no matter how halting. “Yes?”

“You know I… I keep getting these nightmares. About you. You were—you died, every time, and I always…” Anakin takes in a shaky breath. “Always couldn’t do anything. I was really, um.” His fingers tremble in Obi-Wan’s hand, which he grips tighter. “I’m sorry, Master, I shouldn’t, but I was—I am really... scared. I’m really scared to lose you.”

It takes every ounce of Obi-Wan’s self control not to lose composure right there and dive across the table to hold Anakin’s head to his chest. Let him hear how he made Obi-Wan’s heart thrum.

“So, um,” Anakin continues, spared of his struggle. “I told him about it. Well, I didn’t say it was _you_ , I just—I was vague.” He shifts a little, clearly discomforted from retelling these events. Yet he braves on. “Palpatine said he knew how to. Dark side, all that. And he said something about…” He bites his lip. “About the Jedi being evil. I thought it was off, but, uh, I didn’t know what to tell him. I really was spying on him. So he—there was this thing, he told me to write this, erm. What do you call it, an agreement? No, that’s not the word… That thing where I swore that the Jedi were conspiring against—"

"An affidavit," Obi-Wan breathes, almost to himself. _Do you not know_ , Palpatine's haughty voice echoes back from the dead, _that Anakin has written and signed an affidavit decrying your conspiracies against me?_

"Yeah, that. That's what he called it." Anakin blinks, furrowing his brows a bit. "That's a legal thing, right, Master? It'd be bad for the Jedi, so I thought if I were a convict, it won't be valid anymore, and… yeah. Also because, you know, I'm a Je—I was a Jedi, and I killed Palpatine. It'd look extra bad if I were… I don't know, taken back by the Jedi and protected and all that. That’s why I…"

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan utters, incredulous. “You... meant to sacrifice yourself, your reputation and your legacy, for the Order?”

It is one thing to die in battle: to be silently mourned and thanked by civilians; you will remain in the memories of your siblings in arms; to be commemorated by the Republic, the democracy that you have fought for. It is another thing to be led to an execution arena in chains and manacles, bound to a pillar and covered over the head with a bag of cloth, and stand under half a dozen barrels. Who would even be carrying out the execution: Republic marksmen, or _troopers_? The thought alone is harrowing. It’s unjust and futile, not the kind of sacrifice Obi-Wan would stand.

Anakin laughs uneasily. “Kind of. Not really. I mean, _you’re_ part of the Order…” He trails off, his ears steadily turning bright pink. “I don’t want you to be—called a traitor. The other Jedi too. All because of me. So I should—”

“No, Anakin, oh, no. No, don’t worry about that. Palpatine being a Sith Lord _responsible for the Clone Wars_ should make anything he made you sign invalid. That affidavit? Into the garbage chute it goes.” Obi-Wan squeezes his hand. "And if anybody is going to be publicly exposed as a traitor, it will be Palpatine." 

Anakin blinks owlishly, and brightens a little bit. “So… The Order will be okay?”

“Yes, and _you_ too. Speaking of,”—Obi-Wan smiles—“would you like me to find you a new attorney? One who truly cares about making a case of your acquittal, first of all.”

The smile that curves across Anakin’s lips is a beam of sunlight into Obi-Wan’s heart. “Yeah, Master. You know those things. I trust you.” 

“I won’t fail you, then.”

“I know.”

The air seems to ease around Anakin, and between them. Obi-Wan asks him about mundane details, such as whether he has been eating alright ( _“Mhn, it’s not any worse than the food on our ships”_ ), whether he has been able to sleep (Anakin just laughs, a resigned, hollow sound), whether it was too cold in the cell ( _“_ Master _I’m not a youngling, I’ll live”_ ), whether it caused him pain or discomfort to be cut off from Force for so long (Anakin only mumbles something unintelligible at this, which worries Obi-Wan to no end), and finally…

“Are you alright without your mechno-arm?” Obi-Wan inquires. His hands have retreated, as did Anakin’s, when the guard yelled at them earlier for holding hands. “I can’t believe they did that to you.”

“I took it off myself when they asked,” Anakin says, defensive, as though ruffled by the implication that he has been subdued by force. “They said something like, I could use it as a weapon. I actually could, so I thought, _makes sense_.”

Obi-Wan bites back a sigh. “You have neither your arm nor the Force. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have been severely handicapped in your daily life - and unjustly, at that.”

Anakin shrugs. “I make do.”

“Anakin, you don’t have to be chivalrous about this. This is not normal. Even _Dooku_ didn’t remove your arm when you were captured, remember?” Obi-Wan shakes his head in profound disapproval. “I—the Order could sue the Detention Center for discrimination against a person with disability, aggravated by the fact that you are a war veteran, if we wanted to.”

Anakin lets out a bark of a laugh. His eyes finally catch light again, that familiar twinkle that Obi-Wan so loves. “Oh, you _would_ sue the police, wouldn’t you Master?”

“Don’t try me.” Obi-Wan smiles.

The hour comes to an end all too quickly, his words interrupted by the same dreadful bleating bells as last time. Obi-Wan sighs, standing up, and rounds the table. He stands there for one beat, two, as Anakin stares doe-eyed at him, blinking, baffled. Obi-Wan shakes his head in low laughter, and opens his arms.

“Hey,” shouts the guard. “None of that! Get out.”

Obi-Wan turns around and looks the guard dead in the eye. “You will let us have a goodbye embrace, per the Detention Center visitation rules,” he says with a brief swipe of the hand.

“I will let you have a goodbye embrace, per the visitation rules” repeats the guard numbly, stepping back.

Anakin eyes him, grinning. The sight warms Obi-Wan’s heart like nothing has before, but he still quips, “What? I read the rules, Anakin. I wasn’t lying.” He flushes a little bit. “And that _was_ a necessary use of the Force.”

“What, to hug me?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, “to hug you.”

Anakin finally rises and steps in. Obi-Wan wraps both arms tightly around him, breathing a sigh of relief at the scent of him - salty sweat and the mustiness of a cell, nothing offensive. The Japor snippet seems to glow between them from the warmth of their bodies combined, singing a mournful tune in the Force. He cradles Anakin’s head to the crook of his neck, and his heart all but bursts when Anakin nuzzles against him with a soft little dry sob.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin collapses.
> 
> Obi-Wan is the first in the witness box to stand up. He sees only Anakin, seeks only Anakin, as he all but shoulders people out of the way to rush to the dock.

If Anakin could see the state of the living room in their quarters right now, he would probably double over with laughter and quote back to Obi-Wan every single lecture he has given Anakin about keeping things organized.

It isn’t as though Obi-Wan hasn’t made a valiant attempt at arranging everything into place; but he would be lying if he said that he isn’t beginning to understand Anakin’s method to his madness. There is something oddly soothing about having nearly everything in view as he slowly pieces everything together - and any bit of reassurance is dearly appreciated right now.

Too many things have happened within less than a week. On one hand, the 212th have finally returned from Serenno, bringing with them precious records unearthed from not only the Serennian Royal Archives but also Count Dooku’s private correspondence. There, they found an entire highly encrypted section of Count Dooku’s recorded transmissions, which contained scarcely more than a few dozen files. Judging by the metadata, transmissions were regularly deleted from this section, and only the most recent remains. Even those few were already priceless. It took a team of five highly skilled Jedi engineer and ten specialists to carefully scramble the encryption so as not to trigger the self-destruction of _the entire device_ \- yes, destruction of the physical device, not merely deletion of the digital files. Serenno’s advanced technology could be used to such vicious ends. 

What they discovered within this folder is nothing short of a revelation. The holographs all boast a dark-clad, hooded figure, showing only the bottom half of a distinctly weathered, wizened face. The voice is male - well, typically so, at least, - speaking in Basic, with a not-quite-Coruscanti accent, giving… orders. Orders that the dignified, imperious Count Dooku only ever replied to with _“Yes, my master”_ or _“I shall not fail you, Master Sidious”_. Some of the orders mentioned strategic locations that could be matched up with the most recent battlefronts or system occupations. It became clear to the Committee, even to the staunchest skeptic amongst Senators and officials, that there was indeed someone leading the Confederacy in the shadows, from whom the Count of Serenno, Separatist figurehead, took orders.

Another group of specialists were called in: voice and speech analysts, selected from the Order as well as the investigative departments of the Chief Police. Audio files were extracted from these transmissions and enhanced, and the analysts have just reported in earlier this morning. Comparisons between the voice of this shadowy Confederacy figure and Palpatine’s voice during Senate speeches yielded… a near one-hundred-percent match, from vocal range to accent and pronunciations, even the speech pattern as well as certain word choices ( _“...a staggeringly exact match in the use of the word_ Ironic _in terms of ratio and…”_ ). It isn’t definitive proof to non-Force-users that Palpatine was Sidious, but it is as close to a definitive proof as it is legally and commonsensically possible - and, thank the Force, it seems that many Senators would agree with Obi-Wan.

On the other hand, the Joint Committee had been operating swimmingly, a cooperation between a number of Senators, security inspectors and police officers alongside three Jedi: Master Windu, who insisted that he would like to personally oversee this; Knight Kai, a younger Jedi who specialized in archival works; and, of course, Obi-Wan himself. They delved firstly into his correspondence both public and private, and finds—well, quite a few things out of the ordinary (such as his utter lack of personal contacts and the complete absence of family ties whatsoever, not even very distant relatives), but nothing relevant to the case at hand. But as soon as they turned their focus to the corpus of executive documents issued by the Supreme Chancellor ever since the beginning of his term, they discovered one of the most horrifying things Obi-Wan has ever had the misfortune to read.

>   
>  _**Clone Protocol 66:** In the event of the Jedi as an institution acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will indiscriminately remove all Jedi individuals by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established._  
> 

The wording seemed almost tame, at first glance - and so remarked quite a few in the Senate, when matters were brought before them. “It’s rather reasonable, is it not?” Halle Burtoni, representing Kamino, dared to say. “The Jedi basically controls the army. If you want a coup, the Chancellor would be helpless. Of course he had to have this protocol in place as a safety measure.”

“As a ‘safety measure’, Senator?” Mace has said, his disgust barely concealed. “Need I remind you that it was the Chancellor himself who pushed the creation of the GAR even when presented with the option of diplomacy and mediation? I would like you to consider the fact that this is in essence a mechanism allowing the Supreme Chancellor to summarily execute _over ten thousand_ sentients without trial. Indiscriminately. Are you aware that a ‘Jedi individual’ can be as young as seven months of age?”

“Furthermore, Senator Burtoni,” added Padmé, so livid that Obi-Wan could feel her anger almost as strongly as _Anakin’s_. “This protocol corresponds with a confidential grievance report filed by Clone Commander CT-7567, Rex, which denounced the purposes of _biochips_ inside the brain of clones. Commander Rex purported that Order 66 has been activated prematurely before, resulting in the complete override of clone trooper CT-5385 Tup’s mental autonomy, and the wrongful execution of Jedi General Tiplar. The fact that you did not consider this to be an unforgivable breach of sentient rights is abhorrent, Senator, and I believe you should reevaluate your moral compass before continuing to call yourself a civil servant.”

That, to put it in technical terms, shut Burtoni up.

(Padmé secured a vote on her long-awaited Clone Rights Bill three days after. "I'm going to push a special healthcare act for them too," she told Obi-Wan, with a sigh and a shake of her head. "To cover their chip removal and any health complications. As part of their integration - they can't be soldiers for life!")

So the pieces are all here, hearing and debate transcriptions as well as voice analysis reports, sprawled across the floor as Obi-Wan does his best to organize them into one coherent narrative in the most persuasive manner possible, and Force, he still has a message from Anakin’s lawyer whom he haven’t answered; he might as well stay up tonight, considering that the court trial is going to be in less than a week and he still needs to—

“General Kenobi?” Rex’s voice pipes up from behind him, alongside a small knock on the already ajar door. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“At this hour? Who...” Obi-Wan sets down his glasses and turns around. And then his eyes widen and a great smile stretches across his lips.

“Hi, Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka says, waving lightly, beaming at him.

“Ahsoka, what a pleasant surprise.” Obi-Wan rises and paces towards her, opening his arms. She’s tall enough to set her chin above his head if only she stood a little bit on tip-toe. “Apologies for the mess in the room; I have been hard at work, as you can see. How have you been?”

“I’m good.” Ahsoka seems a world different from the stoic-faced girl on the day she left the Order - rightfully, after the way the Council and Republic has treated her. She is herself again, the brilliant, optimistic Padawan that Anakin loved so dearly; even wearing brighter colors than she used to, white and beige and sunflower yellow on her sleeves. “Sorry I couldn’t contact you and Skyguy more often, I was pretty busy - I went to Shili for some time, then I ended up on Kiros because the Governor still remembered me and… well, long story short, I’m an advisor, but,” she adds, radiant with enthusiasm, “I teach martial arts to kids in my free time.”

“I’m overjoyed to hear,” Obi-Wan says fondly.

“Yeah.” She quickly nods it off, and then her eyes grow serious. “Anyway, I’m here to testify for Anakin, if you’ll let me. You’re his defense, right, Master Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blanks for a moment. “You… knew?” Oh, why did he even ask; of course she would know. Anakin’s arrest had made headlines, and as soon as the Joint Committee was established, there have been countless columns that run daily updates on the Palpatine investigation. Which was the point, really - the public deserves to know about the Sith Lord and the corruption of the Senate. But _Anakin_...

Ahsoka gives him a look. “Of course I do! You were there for me last time, you and him, even though it didn’t go so well.” She smiles, softer this time, and clasps his hand. “I figured I’ve got to be here for you, too.”

“Me as well, General,” Rex says, leaving the door frame to step to their side.

“Ah yes, there’s the one who stole my commander post.” Ahsoka’s lekku swings as she whips around playfully and nudges him in the ribs. “Now he’s gonna steal my spotlight at the court thing too.”

“With all due respect, _former_ Commander Tano,” Rex shoots back with a grin, “I didn’t steal anything, I earned that. And this one also.”

“I should be very concerned about you two treating a court hearing like your own theatrical stage.” Obi-Wan shakes his head, entirely unable to tamp down his smile. The room is suddenly warmer than it has been for weeks (has it only been weeks?), livened up by laughter and light banter. “Well, alright, I believe I will have to discuss with Anakin’s defense attorney first. Rather strange that people keep assuming I am his lawyer. I am, in fact, not.”

“I think it’s obvious why…” Rex begins, but doesn’t get a chance to finish; Ahsoka shoves gently at his shoulder and tilts her head.

“Who’s his attorney, Master?”

Obi-Wan grins. “I give you three guesses.”

* * *

“Good day, Korkyrach,” Obi-Wan greets.

On the other side of the transmission, the blond young man gives something between a wince and a smile. “Master Kenobi, I really insist you just call me Korkie.”

“Not until you call me Obi-Wan,” he quips gently, chuckling. It hasn’t been difficult to contact Korkie - they have kept each other’s correspondence for upward a year ever since the unfortunate events on Mandalore, with Korkie being one of the few people who didn’t blame him for what happened. The boy, younger than Anakin yet, has switched smoothly from politics to law ever since the food shortage scandals, and proven himself to be a prodigy in all areas. He completed his studies, passed all of his exams and got his licence faster in record time.

It was a bit of a catch, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. Anakin’s case is both high profile _and_ high risk. He has done and is still doing everything he could to make sure the defense is as complete and coherent as possible - but it is still rather risky for an attorney, especially considering how much media attention would be paid to the court hearing. The Hero with no Fear tried for the murder of the Supreme Chancellor? Said Chancellor also turned out to be a Sith Lord and monster of the highest caliber? If you aren’t interested in politics, you would be in it for the drama. That being said, whoever manages to acquit General Skywalker would have their career set for them, so that was his pitch as he looked for legal help. Thankfully, Korkie just accepted his offer-slash-request with gracious enthusiasm, and set to work right away.

“Alright, Obi-Wan,” Korkie laughs. “I will do my best.”

Obi-Wan nods, and cuts to the chase. “How did your counseling with Anakin go? I hope he wasn’t too stubborn.” _Or too exhausted, or too withdrawn…_

“No, Master… Obi-Wan,” Korkie corrects himself, “he’s quite alright. He seems a little tired, but he was attentive when I explained to him about his rights and the invalidity of the affidavit he signed. I told him I’ve looked at the corpus of evidence and we’ve got a very strong case for him.”

“And what did he say?”

“He recanted his confession.” Korkie smiles, and Obi-Wan smiles as well, inadvertent. “And he seemed glad to hear what I had to tell him. About you and everyone who’s working on his case. He also, er”—Korkie pauses, rubbing his chin in and laughing a little—“remarked that I looked a lot like you.”

Obi-Wan smiles, shaking his head. “That’s not the first time you’ve got that.”

“No, it’s not. Life is hard when you’re a lookalike of the most famous general in the Republic.”

“Second most, Korkie. You just spoke to the most famous today.”

“Right.” Korkie sends him a certain look, shuffles his thick stack of flimsi, and turns a datapad over. “I’ve also contacted the Chief Police - I’ll make sure they notify me next time if they ever try to present him with a plea deal again. Just so he knows he doesn’t have to accept anything he doesn’t want to.”

“Oh, delightful. Thank you, Korkie.”

“I’m only doing my job.” Korkie smiles, glances at his portable chronometer, and makes a face. “I must go. I think that’s one of the officials calling me, actually. Good day, Obi-Wan.”

“Good luck then. May the Force be with you.”

The call ends. They have five days left until the court hearing. Obi-Wan stares blankly out the window for a moment, takes off his glasses, then sighs and puts on his glasses again. He returns to his work, like his life depends on it.

* * *

The sky arches high and bright, a perfect morning of blue sky and fluffy clouds - not too sunny, not too hot, the air just crisp with gentle winds. The Galactic High Court of Justice is located in one of the most ideal places to enjoy this sort of weather: right before the largest suspended biodome park on all of Coruscant, opening up to a vast, lush green view. Clearly, however, nobody is interested in the park today. They - journalists, curious civilians and all - are crammed inside the largest courtroom, swarming the benches, packing the public galleys full to burst. There is nearly not enough space to walk in the aisle leading up to the main area, but that is to be expected.

Were it any other day, perhaps a mission during which Obi-Wan would be merely a Jedi whose presence is required to maintain order, he might have been able to appreciate the architecture more. After all, the building of the High Court is upwards three hundred years old, a true historical monument bearing all the marks of the High Republic with all of its stained glass windows, magnificent carvings and tall, elaborate statues, all complementing the draperies inscribed with the Republic insignia behind the judge’s bench. As it stands, Obi-Wan could hardly look at anything. There is no waiting room for witnesses, but a public box opposite from the jury box. He’s nearly clutching at the files in his hands, and his eyes are focused only on the lone figure at the other end of the room.

Anakin sits in the dock, locked behind durasteel and transparisteel. He’s still wearing that dreadful dark red overalls and those silver-white Force-suppressing collar and handcuffs. Obi-Wan breathes a shallow sigh of minimal relief to see that Anakin has his prosthesis back, and doesn’t seem particularly distressed. Just the usual amount of numb exhaustion - not that it doesn’t already break his heart. He is yet to be tried, and they already treat him like a criminal. _So much for innocent before proven guilty._

“All rise,” announces the bailiff. “This court is now in session.”

The chattering in the room quiets down as soon as the judge enters. Judge Sula is an elderly Pantoran woman, her eyes sharp and her features harsh despite her neutral expression. “Please be seated.” She raises a hand, and opens the documents before her. “This is the matter of the people of the Republic versus Anakin Skywalker.”

The prosecution speaks first; theirs is a narrative of easy, straight facts, a vicious case of murder without a reasonable doubt. On the evening of the tragedy, Obi-Wan Kenobi was present at the Chancellor’s office to report his victory over Grievous to the late Supreme Chancellor. Anakin Skywalker, who already knew that Kenobi was going to be there, must have sensed this to be his chance to carry out the slaughter by lightsaber then lay the blame on a fellow Jedi. Skywalker thus interrupted Kenobi’s meeting with Palpatine, brutally murdered the Chancellor - then, perhaps drunk on his own madness, collapsed and did not manage to escape before Republic guards came in.

It would be an understatement to say that it’s the most ridiculous fictitious scenario Obi-Wan has ever had the misfortune to listen to. He could, however, see how that would make sense to a gullible audience; and the prosecutor is a talented speaker to help matters, his speech full of pathos, his gaze and body language impeccable.

He admits into evidence the photos of the crime scene, then the security holo taken in Palpatine’s office which Obi-Wan has seen replayed in the Council Room not more than a few weeks ago, then the lightsabers and the fingerprint matches. He holds up Anakin’s previous confession recorded on holo as a beacon of truth, the most solid evidence that “the guilty has admitted to his guilt”. The sight of weeks-ago Anakin washed in bluish tints, drooping and avoidant yet still blatantly afraid as he says those words - _“...I confess to the murder of Chancellor Palpatine. Yes, I plead guilty. Yes, please…”_ \- burns Obi-Wan like ice from within. He cranes his neck for a view of Anakin in the dock - it's too far away for him to see Anakin's expression - wishing he could extend his mind and find Anakin in the Force, to feel how he feels.

Then the prosecution calls their witnesses. They don’t have many - the guard who discovered Obi-Wan cradling Anakin in his arms on that night is one among a scant few. “I saw them right there,” they said. “On the floor, right next to the corpse. The hilts of those weapons like a foot away from them. It smells like blood in there. All of the hair stood on my arm...”

Korkie cross-examines in a perfunctory fashion, his questions almost textbook - “How long were you there?”; “At what time did you come in?”; “Why didn’t you come in earlier if you said there were noises coming out?” - and his tone steely. The prosecutor doesn’t bother to conduct a redirect examination, choosing instead to end confidently with his closing remarks. 

He rests his case with such a strong appeal to affect: “Truly, I wonder as you do, how a general considered to be a _hero_ of the Republic could murder the Chancellor in cold blood - and not only just murder, but _desecrate_ his remains, like an animal who has gone rabid! I believe much of this has to do with the fact that he was a Jedi, someone who is part of an organization who has so long considered themselves exempt from, if not above, the law. I implore you, dear members of the jury, to consider the long-term implication, the _symbolism_ at the heart of this case: a typical Jedi, desecrating the Head of State. Your Honor, sentence Anakin Skywalker is to show that no, the Jedi are _not_ above the law. Such is the importance of this verdict. Thank you.”

On Obi-Wan’s left, Ahsoka mutters to herself: “Anakin is a typical Jedi? That’s a first.”

On Obi-Wan’s right, even Mace covers his mouth to muffle a snort.

The judge then calls upon the defense. Serenely, Korkie stands up.

“Your Honor. Members of the jury,” he begins, his voice measured but sonorous. For someone so young, he certainly lacks nothing of the professionalism that befits those twice, thrice his age. “I would like to open my case with a statement of fact. Yes, Anakin Skywalker did kill Sheev Palpatine.”

The public breaks out in a confused susurrus. The jury shifts uncomfortably in their seat. The judge’s expression doesn’t change, but Obi-Wan can sense bewilderment from her. Obviously, what is a defense attorney doing, decrying his client to be guilty of the very crime he is supposed to refute? Even Obi-Wan is slightly startled, despite having already been given the opening speech beforehand.

“I tell you this,” Korkie continues, “because I prefer to lay the truth clear, so that we may discuss matters that I consider to be much more important. That is, _how_ was my client pushed towards committing this act? For this, I would like to tell you a story.”

And a story he tells indeed. He tells it, in the prudent manner of a storyteller trained to be a politician and honed into a lawyer. There are no too-loud sweeping declarations, no imagery-laden language designed to shock one into agreeing, nothing like the prosecutor’s case. Korkie’s voice is solemn yet captivating as he tells the jury and the rest of the public the tale of a young boy, born into slavery and sold into yet more slavery. He tells the public about how Anakin Skywalker turned out to be a genetically special boy with a record high midichlorian count, yet entered the Jedi Order feeling like an intruder, an impostor, despite being one of the most gifted students. How he had never known the cushy life of a middle-class Core Worlder, had never had anything to call himself to lose, yet when he could have had anything he still chose to live an ascetic life, aspiring to nothing but to serve the Order, Republic, the values of democracy and freedom.

He then speaks of Palpatine’s continued influence on Anakin; of the numerous occasions during Anakin’s childhood where Palpatine had stolen the trust of an underprivileged, innocent child, to feed him lies and fuel blind hatred in him, to try and turn him against his only family and friends. “All this time, Anakin had thought of Palpatine as a grandfather, a mentor, a close friend,” says Korkie. “All this time, from adolescence to adulthood, Anakin had spent much time confiding in Palpatine, not knowing what the latter had in store for him.

“What, indeed, did Sheev Palpatine have in store for him, you may ask? I suppose it would not surprise many of you here, to hear of the newest findings of the Joint Committee of Investigation, between the Senate, the Ministry of Security and the Chief Police. Palpatine was a traitor to the Republic, a man who was democratically elected into office yet endeavored to gain the power of a dictator, through fabricating a galaxy-wide conflict. Palpatine had the blood of hundreds of millions, if not billions, sentients on his hands, and he was going to kill more. He was going to eradicate the Jedi, even the elderly in their Archives, or the infants in their cradles. He was going to do all of this for one sole purpose: to take Anakin Skywalker for his own, solely because of his prized genetics.

"The nature of my case, therefore, is not to convince you of a lie, but to persuade you to see beyond the matter of manslaughter. The nature of my case is to present the circumstances of Skywalker's life and of Palpatine's death, so that you may find Skywalker's actions to be not only a rightful act of self-defense, but also a fierce display of devotion to his loved one in danger. As such, the witnesses of the defense will not be limited to mere eye-witnesses directly related to the incident, but also any and all those who wish to testify for Anakin Skywalker's moral character. Some of you will find it unorthodox, but I have faith that you would look upon my client's case with an open mind.

“Your Honor and members of the jury, please understand this. Palpatine was a profoundly, inexcusably evil man who wanted to tear the galaxy apart. Even then, faced with that truth and betrayal, Anakin Skywalker was not about to kill him. He was never going to kill him. At the very moment Skywalker discovered the ploy, he rushed to report to his elders - the Jedi Council. So why did Skywalker end up in the dock?”

Korkie pauses, his gaze traveling in a serene arc from one corner of the room to the other. “I believe I would not be able to tell it better than my first witness: Obi-Wan Kenobi, former mentor, fellow general and closest friend of Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan rises. They have rehearsed this. Briefly, but they did. He stays the tremble in his hand and wills the wobble of his knees away - he is a man nearing forty, for Force’s sake, he should be much, much more collected than this. He steps down from the witness’ seats, and does not look at anyone as he makes his way through the courtroom. As soon as he enters the witness stand, he finds himself standing directly across from Anakin’s dock - just so, so far away.

"Your Honor, members of the jury." Obi-Wan straightens up and lets his voice carry in the warmest, kindest tone - the voice he used to tell stories to Anakin before bed, the voice he used to sing quiet hymns to fallen soldiers as night fell on the battlefield. "I was there on the night of the incident, reporting Grievous's death and suggesting the Chancellor to either cease his use of emergency powers or be removed from office via judicial processes. Palpatine attacked me with the full power of a Force-user, one who was sworn to greed rather than to compassion."

 _"Don't talk about Sith Lords, Obi-Wan, they won't understand,"_ Korkie has said, when Obi-Wan came to him for advice - considering how he hadn't seemed to impress the Senate much, last time. _"Describe to them how horrible Palpatine was. Talk about the basest senses… and the most physical things, like your injuries. You'll hate me for saying this, but you were Palpatine's victim. Let them see you that way."_

"Palpatine was powerful enough to nearly subdue me, a grown Jedi trained in the art of swordsmanship since childhood. My injuries caused me to fall into a brief coma and compromised my immunity for some time. I have a thin burn here on my shoulder, and a large gash on my flank that required the healers to reconstruct a few rib bones of mine. I also have skin blisters and organ damage from being shocked with electricity, also courtesy of Palpatine. He was not a helpless old man. He was not only politically powerful but also physically, and he had nearly killed me - all because I asked him to return power to the Senate as a democratic leader should.

"Palpatine would have killed me, if Anakin hadn't come at that very moment. Anakin…" Obi-Wan allows himself to pause when his voice suddenly goes hoarse, nearly cracking. He shudders. "Anakin has always been a fiercely loyal friend and fellow fighter. I have raised him and trained him since he was nine years old, freshly brought into the Temple. When you have earned Anakin's trust, you will not find anyone who trusts more deeply than him.

"In the course of our lifelong friendship, I have nearly broken that trust, once or twice. When duties oblige, I let him down, in the service of the Republic. Yet he remained by my side, and forgave me, and we moved on. I have known Anakin to be an imperfect man, a flawed person, but his virtues outshine the cracks and the gaps. One of those is that he always strives to better himself, to become stronger, in order to protect the people he cares about and the values he holds dear.

"The manner in which he disposed of Palpatine might not have been easy to stomach for you. It wasn't for me, either. And I could tell you for sure that it wasn't for him - because he was weeping on my shoulder when he came out of his trance. But I know why he fell into the mental state that surrounded the slaughter, and that was because my life was in jeopardy. The slaughter was neither premeditated nor malicious. If Palpatine had not threatened me, I am sure that Anakin would never have taken such a drastic course of action."

The room falls silent for a long, long moment, when Obi-Wan ends his testimony on that somewhat hanging note. He presses his lips into a line and squares his shoulders to keep the shiver down.

Korkie spoke, just as calm as before: “Master Kenobi, could you describe the mental state that Anakin Skywalker was in, in more details?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan gathers himself for a moment. He could describe it in his sleep. The images are seared into his mind. “Anakin was unconsolable. It was as if he didn’t know what he was doing, and loathed himself when he realized what he did. He was shaking, and incoherent. He kept apologizing to me, and...” Obi-Wan looks straight at Anakin as he speaks. Whether or not their eyes meet, he can’t tell for sure. “He said that he was scared to see me die. He has always been fearful of that possibility.”

“Thank you,” says Korkie with a dip of the head.

"You mentioned that your wounds caused you to fall into a brief coma," the prosecutor begins, immediately cross-examining. "Meaning your perception was unstable when you received them. Are you sure that those wounds were truly given to you by Palpatine?"

Obi-Wan nearly laughs. _Because we have sparred for thousands of hours and Anakin does not attack like this. Because Anakin would_ never _hurt me._ "Yes, I am sure. I received them separately, at different moments, while I was defending myself from Palpatine. Anakin was not even there yet when I did. He intervened when I was struck down by the electric shock."

"You mean that he simply just arrived when you were about to be killed?" The prosecutor narrows his eyes. "Seems too wild for a coincidence to me."

"It was not a coincidence," Obi-Wan concedes. "Anakin could sense when I am in danger, as I he. It might seem incredulous to you, but it is utterly common among us." _"And don't mention the Force too much. Most people would dismiss it as superstitious, not valid or rational enough to be evidence,"_ Korkie had added. Obi-Wan keeps this in mind. "It is a connection, a sort of intuition - like between family, friends, lovers, et cetera - if you may. We use it to our advantage when we fight on the frontline to protect the citizens of the Republic."

Words blur into silence as time blurs into space, and before long, Obi-Wan finds himself already back on the witness bench. Mace Windu is next to testify.

“Knight Skywalker is honest to a fault,” Mace begins, frank and forward. “I recall his dismay when we announced to him that his mission was to report back to us any suspicious activities that the Chancellor appeared to engage in. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but Skywalker seemed to think it espionnage. Nevertheless, he accepted. I could tell how shaken he was when he told me that Palpatine was an immoral traitor.” Mace, too, has received the Korkie debrief; the other day Obi-Wan glimpsed him sitting down and removing all references to the Force from his testimony notes with a grumble. “To put it bluntly, your Honor, Skywalker liked Palpatine more than he liked me. The fact that Palpatine was struck down while I remain here suggests that Palpatine had done something unfathomably cruel to him.”

Neither direct examination nor cross-examination fazes Mace, not one bit - his answers are direct and sharp, the blow only softened by his standard polite language. The prosecutor is scowling by the time he leaves the witness box, and that would be the end of witnesses who had been at the scene.

But as Korkie has prefaced, he then begins to call upon those who know Anakin as a person. Padmé rises next, in a long, plain blue dress, her graceful silhouette nearly gliding across the room as she enters the witness stand. The silver belt that cinches her waist brings out the Japor pendant she wears, ivory in color and square-ish in shape. Beside Obi-Wan, Ahsoka fiddles with her very own Japor charm on her wrist, before decisively pulling her bracelet outside of her sleeve. Obi-Wan watches her, then slowly, quietly feeling for the silver chain around his neck. He draws out the snippet Anakin has carved for him from an unusually large chunk of Japor, years and years ago; it’s still warm with the heat of his body, as he always wears it on his person. For once he lets it rest on top of his robes rather than tucked within, right above his heart. Let them both follow Padmé’s example, showing Anakin’s affection to the world.

“...and I also knew Palpatine since I was a young child, as Anakin had. When I was only an Apprentice Legislator, I was deeply impressed by Palpatine’s eloquence, and idolized him as a mentor figure and a stellar politician alike; yet as I matured both as a person and a legislator, I realized just how opaque Palpatine could be. My greatest regret was that I had not been able to warn Anakin of this - I stood aside and watched him grow closer and closer to Palpatine, without realizing that Anakin was being _groomed_.” The jury rustles, and beyond the wooden partitions the public breaks out in gasps and whispers. There is fire in her eyes and not a single drop of doubt as she continues on with the accusation against Palpatine.

 _She knows what she is doing_ , Obi-Wan thinks. She is a politician; he is fairly sure that she knows exactly how loaded that word is, and how carefully she must tread. Yet she uses it all the same. “Yes, your Honor, as Anakin’s friend and correspondence over the years, and as someone who was also approached by Sheev Palpatine as a child, I have strong reasons to believe that Anakin was groomed. Palpatine’s betrayal was not only against the people of the Republic; it was also a personal betrayal to Anakin.”

Korkie questions her relationship to Anakin and the correspondence she spoke off, which Padmé explains are short holographs they sent each other over the years, all of which the Order was aware of. The prosecutor questions her _‘relationship’_ to Anakin and sneers over the fact that a Senator remains in such close friendship to a Jedi. “...and, as a Senator, do you not think that testifying for the murderer of _the late Chancellor_ would be a political suicide?”

“Objection,” says Korkie. “That is a loaded personal question with intentions of intimidation, your Honor. I call prosecutorial misconduct.”

“Sustained,” says Judge Sula. “Question dismissed. Please proceed.”

Padmé leaves the witness stand and returns to the bench, just beside Ahsoka. The Togruta squeezes her hand before she stands up, striding briskly across the courtroom floor. She slides in behind the wood-and-marble enclosure, her eyes bright.

“Anakin was my mentor, and one of my closest friends. He was barely five years older than me when I was assigned as his student. We were only together for three years, but they were three years on the _battlefield_. He had taught me more than any other teacher had. He taught me that rules can be bent, if that means saving more lives.” Ahsoka straightens up, standing tall, her hands balled up into fists over the ledges of the stand. Even from here Obi-Wan can see her eyes shine. “He is not gentle, but he is kind. Even though he is a warrior, he wouldn’t kill someone if he thinks they don’t deserve it. Because that is what it means to be a Jedi. And he might not be a _typical_ Jedi”—she eyes the prosecutor—“but he is a brilliant Jedi. He might’ve killed Palpatine, but by doing so he also stopped the whole war. I think you should be giving him a medal, not putting him in a collar and a karking glass cage.”

“Ms. Tano, please mind your language.”

“Yes, your Honor. Sorry, your Honor.” Ahsoka doesn’t even blush. “Members of the jury, this isn’t the first time I stand in court. The last time, I was in the Military Tribunal, and I was accused of something I did not do. The Jedi Council decided to leave me on my own, to a death sentence. It’s like being disowned by your grandparents, if you want to imagine what it’s like. And Anakin stood by me even then. So, to you all, and especially to you, Anakin, I know how deeply humiliating it is to stand there in the dock. I know you’ve been treated unfairly, and I hope that the justice system itself will take this as a chance to right its own wrongs. Acquitting Anakin Skywalker is the _least_ you could do, your Honor. Thank you.”

Her fiery testimony earned a few giggles from the public. A Mon Calamar on the jury benches has to turn around to stifle their laughter. Obi-Wan strokes his beard, conveniently hiding his wide smile. So it was not just empty threats when she called the witness stand her ‘spotlight’, then. It’s really not proper conduct, but Ahsoka’s bell-like voice and enthusiastic defense of Anakin was such a delight to listen to. At the far end of the room, Anakin slumps - and Obi-Wan can’t make out the clear lines of his body, but he’s almost sure there is a tremble in his shoulders. His heart seizes.

Ahsoka snips at the prosecution with the same enthusiasm ( _“No sir, I don’t have any personal vendetta against Chancellor Palpatine. I only saved his life like three times.”_ ), while gently answering Korkie’s questions ( _“Yeah, I’ve known Anakin for longer than that. He was our favorite younglingsitter in the crèche.”_ ). When she’s finally dismissed from the witness stand, she looks towards the public and says, “I’m not done here yet,” and grins, and slips back into her seat next to Obi-Wan.

Rex comes up next, wearing civilian clothing rather than his usual armor - except he carries his helmet with him. He sets it solemnly before him when he’s in the witness stand, and speaks, similar to Ahsoka, about how he knows Anakin, how he and all of the troopers thrived under Anakin’s command, how they found encouragement in the way Anakin always lead on the frontline, never stalking back, demonstrating nothing but bravery and loyalty and care for his men. But he has a substantial addition regarding Palpatine.

“...clones, we are more like brothers, than superiors and subordinates. And my brother, Fives, died in my very arms. I will never forget his last words: _This is bigger than any of us, than anything I could’ve imagined._ Now that the executive order 66 has been discovered, I understand what he means.” Rex pauses for a moment, solemn, then takes a deep breath. “Fives was also accused of trying to assassinate the Chancellor, before he had to flee. But all he ever wanted to do was to do his duty. Members of the jury, I ask of you not to let another good man die because of Palpatine. That is all I ask.”

After Rex, Fox steps on the podium. “...I had to kill my own brother,” he says, among other things, his voice thick, caught between grief and guilt, “because of Palpatine. Don’t make me shoot my general too.”

Then comes clone medic Kix, freshly rescued from Ponemah by Cody himself, and still recovering from the cryo-cycle stasis that the Separatists have frozen him in, walking towards the witness stand with the help of Jesse. “The healers told me that the first things I said when I was unfrozen from the pod was, _I have to inform General Skywalker. We all have the chips in our brain._ I hope you can imagine how I felt when I, a medic, discovered that I have a biochip that can force me to kill people…”

The tone begins to take a lighter turn as more and more troopers testify. With a completely straight face, Jesse leans over the ledge and tells anecdotes. “I once saw General Anakin Skywalker cry over a mouse droid he thought was broken. If he was evil, I’d eat my helmet. Thank you.” Yet more giggles come from the public, and huffs of laughter from the jury, and even Judge Sula’s lips twitch up.

Appo describes how Anakin would go out of his way to take the more dangerous routes, would put himself in the way to protect his men, “and one time even in front of a cannon; he cares for our lives even when we tell him not to.” 

Echo shows his prosthesis to the entire courtroom, smiling faintly as he recounts how Anakin shared his experience with living with a prosthetic limb, and how “General Skywalker did some mods for me. He promised to redo my gloves, too.”

Kano fondly and exasperatedly recounts “that one time General Skywalker walked six miles through the desert alone to General Kenobi’s crash site, despite General Kenobi being at the base and unhurt, to retrieve an astromech that he had specifically modded to look exactly like his R2 unit so they could match…”

The testimonies seem… endless. More than twice Obi-Wan turns around, looking at the long line of clones - all wearing civilian clothing and carrying their helmet like a badge of honor - queueing up behind and around the witness benches. There aren’t even enough seats for them, but they stand in perfect discipline as if this is their homebase hangar bay.

“There are quite a few troopers here today, aren’t there?” Obi-Wan muses under his breath, frowning slightly in the direction of Korkie - who is still focusing on the witness at hands, not looking at him.

“You think so?” Ahsoka whispers back at him, rather too excited, even though he hasn’t been talking to her. Obi-Wan sighs. Oh, he should have known.

“Did you have a hand in this?”

“That depends on whether or not you approve.”

“You sound eerily like Anakin there, young one.” Obi-Wan glances up. Well, Judge Sula doesn’t seem any displeased with the continuous stream of defense witnesses coming up, at least. “Not that I disapprove, Ahsoka, I only… can’t believe Korkie allowed you to do this. There have been ten witnesses already - we are practically overrunning the courthouse.”

“Oh no,” Ahsoka says, entirely unrepentant. “What are we going to do about the rest of the 501st now?”

Obi-Wan turns to her fully. “Pardon?”

“Yes, General. Everyone wants to come over,” Rex whispers from behind him. “We were saying, if they’re gonna try anything with General Skywalker, we’ll go there and testify one by one and bore them out of their mind until they have to acquit our general.”

Obi-Wan rubs his forehead, shaking his head, shaking with suppressed laughter as well. “A scheme concocted by the most unorthodox battalion in the GAR,” he says, eyes wetting, yet still smiling big. “I’m on your side, and even I am afraid.”

“As you should be.” Ahsoka grins. 

“In the Senate, we would call it a _filibuster_ ,” Padmé chimes in.

They all quiet again when the bailiff shoots them a warning glare.

And Obi-Wan wishes he could be by Anakin’s side, wishes he could watch the way a blush would certainly deepen on Anakin’s face when he realizes just how much and how deeply he is loved by those around him. He makes a mental note to later spell it out for his dear old Padawan, if Anakin still hasn’t managed to figure it out by now.

In the end, not all of the troopers present come to stand at the witness stand. Korkie ends the witness examination after a round of another half-dozen clones, and stands up once more to make his closing arguments.

“...can see, members of the jury, the defendant is not only a man of honor, but a profoundly kind, caring and affectionate person who is adored by his family and his peers. Although Anakin Skywalker has been responsible for Palpatine’s death, I maintain that he is not guilty of the charges of premeditated murder. The fact that he has single-handedly ended the greatest threat to the Republic - Palpatine, the man who called himself Supreme Chancellor - should be more than enough to acquit him. I implore you to remember his contribution, his loyalty and his sacrifice to the Republic, and urge you to consider his case not only with the law as it is written, but also with morality, justice, and the nuances of reality in mind. Thank you.”

Everything has been recorded. A certain chill creeps through the air, stringing the tension higher and higher, as the judge reads the instructions to the jury to prepare for their deliberations. The final moments are drawing near, and much of it will hang on this decision. Obi-Wan keeps his breathing steady, even as his heart beats out of his chest. If the jury is hung, they will have to go through all of this again, and he can’t even be sure if Anakin would be released in the meantime. If the jury pronounces Anakin guilty… he doesn’t even want to think about it. He does not want to think about an execution, or a life sentence, or anything that could take Anakin away from the Temple - away from _him_.

Every chronometer in the room seems to weigh down on him, chorusing in their silent ticking. Obi-Wan doesn’t move from his spot, while the jurors shuffle from their benches and move to a private room to convene. He murmurs little words of reassurance when Ahsoka or Rex or Padmé asks him if he is alright. He is not quite alright, to be very honest, his gaze pinned on the dock where Anakin sits with his head bowed yet again. If he could be there beside his boy, he would set a hand on Anakin’s arm, rub his back and coax Anakin to lay his head on his shoulder.

Whether or not he will ever be allowed to do that again will depend on the final decision.

It feels like a millennium has passed, when the private room doors slide open and the jurors come out in a line, one by one. The presiding juror walks up to the judge’s bench, sets down an envelope then returns to the jury box, while the bailiff makes the rounds in the public to shush them into silence.

Judge Sula opens the envelope.

“The record should reflect the attorneys for the Republic, the attorneys for the accused, the accuser present in the courtroom. The court has received a message from the jury, indicating that they’ve reached a verdict.”

She pauses to direct her gaze towards the sealed transparisteel dock. Years of Jedi training cannot stop Obi-Wan from shuddering on Anakin’s behalf.

“If the defendant will please stand.”

Anakin rises to his feet. Even from here Obi-Wan could see him stumble slightly.

“In the Galactic High Court of Justice, the Republic versus Anakin Skywalker, number 98 V19306, the court has decided: The defendant is responsible for the death of Sheev Palpatine. However, we consider the defendant’s childhood influences, wartime fatigue and obligated self-defense as well as the fact that Sheev Palpatine was a threat to democracy and to the Republic to be contributive extenuating circumstances. Therefore, we find the defendant Anakin Skywalker...”

A pause. A heart-stopping, maddening pause.

“...Not guilty.”

Anakin collapses.

Obi-Wan is the first in the witness box to stand up. He races from his bench, his mind suddenly unable to take into account any and all consequences whatsoever. The judge is still speaking, “...Skywalker, you are no longer under any conditions. You are free to leave,” and this and that, and nothing registers in Obi-Wan’s mind. He sees only Anakin, seeks only Anakin, as he all but shoulders people out of the way to rush to the dock.

The bailiff and other security guards come running after him, only to hand him the key. It’s a good thing they catch up with him before he crushes the lock on the steel dock with the Force. The door swings open hard, and Obi-Wan dips down immediately, crouching over the unconscious figure.

Anakin’s hair splays across the cold hard floor, laying halfway on his side, arms still pulled forward with his hands bound. The handcuffs and ankle cuffs crack and crunch under a particularly harsh curl of the Force, then Obi-Wan removes the pieces with utmost gentleness before moving to the collar. He deigns to use the decryptor handed to him by a security guard this time, if only to show that he’s not entirely disregarding their, ah, authority.

“He’s alright,” Obi-Wan announces softly, when he senses Ahsoka draw near, then the others - his friends, Anakin’s friends too. But right this moment he doesn’t think of much else than to bring Anakin to safety, warmth, and _home_. He gathers Anakin into his arms, unable to resist standing there for a moment to nuzzle his cheek against Anakin’s forehead. Anakin stirs with a small groan, eyes fluttering.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, dear one.” Obi-Wan smiles down, his eyes welling up. “You’re acquitted. You’re free to leave.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” Anakin yawns through his smile, hooking an arm around Obi-Wan’s neck. “...Can we just leave like this?”

For a heartbeat, Obi-Wan forgets where they are. All he knows is Anakin, warm in his arms, limp from exhaustion but aware enough to cling to him; and the fondness that blooms and swells and overflows his heart. For the first time in weeks, he feels Anakin again in the Force, a bright light glimmering and pulsing and fluttering on the other side of their still-intact bond. The noise around them has faded into the background; not even the flashes of camera or the whirr of microphone-droids can pop the bubble that encases them both.

(Tomorrow, he will find thousands of holos - taken from as many angles as you can possibly imagine - of Anakin in his arms, carried like a new bride down the aisle of one of the oldest historical buildings in the capital city of Coruscant. Tomorrow he will flush and take off his glasses and sigh at the tabloids that plaster those holos on their front page with misleading titles such as _Lovers’ Intuition_ in bold. But that is a problem for tomorrow.)

“Of course,” he whispers, leans down and presses his lips to Anakin’s forehead. He shuffles Anakin closer to his chest, letting Anakin tucks his head to the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck as he pleases. Little more than a nudge in the Force is needed to turn the journalists away from them both, as Obi-Wan marches out of the courthouse. He’s not even halfway to his speeder when Anakin falls asleep once more, hand folded over the Japor snippet on Obi-Wan’s heart.

* * *

Anakin wakes up at the worst moment.

“Oh,” he says, staring up, chest half-bare, lying prone on the bed with Obi-Wan hovering over him, blushing nearly as furiously as Obi-Wan is.

Obi-Wan nearly scrambles back. He rubs a hand over his face, as if that could wipe the mortified flush away. He has been in the middle of stripping Anakin out of the red overall without waking him. Really, Anakin could have woken before he even began, or _after_ he was done undressing him - so why does it have to be _now_? “Apologies, Anakin, I...”

“No, Master.” Anakin reaches over, catching the very end of his sleeve. He tugs, and when Obi-Wan dares to turn back to look him in the eye, there’s a smile on his face, his very flushed face. Abashed, but hopeful. His hand finds Obi-Wan’s. “...Please continue?”

The bed - _his_ bed - dips under his weight as Obi-Wan shuffles closer again. Anakin grips his hand for leverage to sit up, in an entirely unnecessary fashion. They sit in silence, legs nearly slotted together. Anakin’s breaths roll gently over his skin. Their foreheads could have touched if they wanted. He unbuttons down the detainee overall, and tries not to think too much about it whenever Anakin shivers under the graze of his fingertips.

Anakin's hand comes up to play with the Japor snippet on his chest, that Obi-Wan almost forgot is dangling outside of his robes now. "You still have this," he remarks, soft-voiced, nondescript.

"Of course I do," Obi-Wan affirms, parting the fabric, pushing them down along the slope of Anakin's broad shoulders. "You made it for me."

Anakin chuckles, a breathy, clipped sound. He's got this faint little smile on his face, his eyes so bright and his gaze so bare, like his heart is out in the open and trembling. His ears are bright red, but he's so pleased that the Force dances and twinkles around his signature, and Obi-Wan thinks, _oh._ Perhaps he should wear the snippet on top of his robes more often, if he dares. Yes, he just might.

“What I said…” Anakin begins again, a few moments later, turning slightly so that Obi-Wan could pull the sleeves from his arms. “What I said the first time you visited, I didn’t mean it, Master.” 

Obi-Wan looks up at him. The upper part of the overalls slips down, bunching around Anakin’s waist. Afternoon light streams through sheer curtains, glowing on Anakin’s long, curved lashes, highlighting his delicate jawline as he tilts his head. _I don’t want to be a Jedi_ , Anakin has said then, haltingly, painfully. It has never rung true.

“...I still want to be a Jedi,” Anakin finishes up, fiddling with the bottommost buttons on his overall. “I want to come back. Can I?”

Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a smile, warm and wide. He runs his hand up Anakin’s right arm, from the metal plating to the joint to the biceps. Anakin stares at his hand, and then stares at him, and Obi-Wan chooses that moment to answer.

“You’ve never left, Anakin.”

He goes back to peeling the rest of the overall from Anakin, letting it fall to the floor. Anakin draws back, pulling the blanket over himself; it drapes over his knees, cascading down to crease up at his waist, folding around him like petals around a pistil. He shifts and the patches of sunlight shift along oh so sweetly across soft, pale fabric and sun-kissed skin, catching in his hair like honey. In hues of gold, his eyes are the only blue. Brilliant, adoring blue.

If Obi-Wan could capture this moment in amber to venerate it in the depths of his heart, he would.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, quiet words fluttering in the filigree-thin silence. “For everything. Everything you did for me today, and for the past few weeks. It’s amazing. You and everyone, really… I didn’t expect…” He sniffles, and smiles and bites his lip and still smiles so big. “No, I mean, this is what I’d expect from you, it’s _you_ after all. It’s just that, it’s so—much, you know? And all of these things people, you, _everybody_ , said about me, well." His face is all pink. "I get that you all were just trying to get me to… not be sentenced, but it still felt too good. Really, _badly_ good, like I don't deserv—"

Obi-Wan leans across the expanse of the blanket and meets his lips.

Anakin freezes for only a second. He’s so soft, so pliant, lips parting right away, arms already snaking about Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan runs his hand through honeyed curls, tilting his head, deepening the kiss just because Anakin allows him to. Heat pools in his belly as Anakin moans softly and tugs him in; he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of Anakin’s lips, and lets out a hum at the slide of Anakin’s tongue. Anakin’s signature pulses brightly all around him, covering all of his being, fresh like dewdrops on saplings, lovingly warm like a drizzle in spring.

He gives Anakin back everything, the colors of his heart and the song the Force sings when it beats for Anakin. There’s no reason to hold back anymore, not after the ordeal, not after learning about such dreadful things, not after sleepless nights of wondering if he is going to lose Anakin to the very Republic they served. He cradles Anakin by the base of his skull, by the small of his back, laying Anakin onto the sheets like a petal. He presses little kisses to the corner of his mouth, to his jaw, and pulls back only to smile at the near-dazedness in Anakin’s eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Obi-Wan admits in a whisper.

A grin breaks out on Anakin’s face, breathless as he is. He cups Obi-Wan's face with both hands. “To shut me up?”

Obi-Wan laughs, twining their fingers together, savoring the hitched breath that lightly jolts Anakin's chest beneath him. He presses Anakin down, and kisses him again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this funky little jargon-salad of a fic 💖💕


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